


When There Were Wolves in Wales

by JaneHarper41



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dubious Consent, Full Shift Werewolves, Heat Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Series 03 Fix-It: Children of Earth (Torchwood), Temporary Character Death - Jack Harkness, Werewolf Ianto Jones, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28426824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneHarper41/pseuds/JaneHarper41
Summary: “There are no wolves in Wales, Jack. Went extinct in the sixteenth century.”“Well, I’ve been around a while, Ianto, and I’m pretty sure those are wolves.”A Torchwood/Teen Wolf crossover fic.
Relationships: Ianto Jones/Jackson Whittemore, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones/Jackson Whittemore, Jack Harkness/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf \- Takes place when Jackson moves to London after S.2 (basically concurrent with S.3)  
> Torchwood \- Early Season 2-ish?  
> This is a Jack/Ianto/Jackson HFN, with Janto HEA.  
> Hopefully, this will become a two- or three-part series with Jackson's HEA in Part 2. 
> 
> The title is a line from “A Child's Christmas In Wales” by Dylan Thomas.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  
>  Underage \- Jackson is, canonically, 17 when this fic takes place. The age of consent in Wales is 16, so no statutory rape or other illegal sexual activity is depicted. Please feel free to imagine he is actually over 18 as you read this fic.  
> Dubious consent \- What you might expect from omega heat sex.  
> Temporary character death (Jack) \- Also brief unintentional sexual contact with a corpse.  
> Violence \- Some, not especially graphic or prolonged.  
> Also, there will be one scene with some BDSM-like content. I will add tags/warnings when that chapter is posted. It is not essential to the plot.

It starts after Jackson’s lived in London for a couple months. It’s like his head’s in a fog. At first, he thinks he’s still just a bit off-kilter from the time change, and the culture shock, and trying to wrap his brain around everything that happened to him in the past year. But then he starts to feel physical symptoms. A little itchy, a little headache. Something’s not quite right, and it’s getting worse. 

Any other person would think he’s just coming down with the flu. But not Jackson. He knows it’s something else. 

Jackson’s a werewolf. Werewolves don’t get sick. 

He’s worried, but not too much at first. Then he begins having difficulty controlling his wolf. He feels it prowling around, right under the surface. But it doesn’t come out when he’s angry or feels threatened, as would normally be expected. It took some work, but he did learn to control anger and fear. Not that he’s dealt with those emotions entirely. He’s still the same screwed-up asshole he was before. He just knows how to talk the beast down when he has to.

But now he begins to experience loss of control at the strangest times, like when he passes the homeless guy on the corner, his red tin cup rattling a few coins to get his attention. Or that commercial – one of the annoying ones that you have to watch before a ‘tube video – except this one was for laundry softener, and for some reason makes him cry like a girl. When it happens, his claws extend and he feels his canines lengthen, and everything goes red just for a moment. 

So now, not only does he get emotional at the drop of a hat, but he’s constantly worried that there’s something wrong with him. Something really, really wrong. If he were a woman, he’d think he might be pregnant. But that’s impossible. Aside from lacking the necessary anatomical equipment, he doesn’t want to think about how long it’s been since he’s had sex. 

Actually, he thinks about that quite a lot. 

His skin crawls and he feels an ache deep inside, like a hunger. He’s not sure if the longing is physical or emotional, or both. He feels lost, drifting, anchorless. And he hates it. 

He doesn’t know any werewolves in London, tries to avoid them, actually, when he catches a scent on the street. Doesn’t have any friends yet, either. He’s taking high school classes online, one of those homeschool-hybrid deals, plus a course that gives him university credit, but so far this term he’s only had to go to one in-person seminar. His dad’s always working or travelling, and his mom stayed in Los Angeles for her new job. So he’s basically on his own.

But he has a pack back home in Beacon Hills, right? Even though he never really fit into the group. They didn’t like him, and they were a bunch of losers anyway. But Derek bit him, and he’s the Alpha, so Derek’s the one he calls when the anxiety twisting in his gut gets so bad he can’t eat and can’t sleep. 

It takes a little while to connect, what with the time change and schedules and all. They could have Skyped or Hungout or something, but Jackson wants to do this over the phone. Because if they aren’t in the same room, he can lie if he needs to, and Derek probably won’t know. And he doesn’t want the possibility of him reading his facial expressions or body language either. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Dude, it’s Saturday.”

“It’s still Friday here.”

“Yeah. Time zones, Derek.” 

After a little more lame small talk, Jackson is eventually able to explain the whole situation. 

“Hang on, Jackson. Why are you calling me?”

“What? Because there’s something really wrong with me, that’s why. I can’t be sick, but I am, so what does that mean? Maybe I… you know, came back wrong.”

“Came back wrong?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was dead, for fuck’s sake!”

“I remember.”

“That doesn’t… that’s not normally supposed to happen. What if something went wrong and I’m not really a werewolf. Maybe I’m, like, half wolf and half, I don’t know, Orc or something.”

“Orc?”

“It could happen. Werewolves exist. Kanima exist. Witches and a lot of other freaky stuff. Why not Orcs?”

“Uh…”

“I could be a zombie.”

There is dead silence on the phone for a minute before Derek speaks again. 

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, Jackson. What I meant was, why did you call _me_?”

“Who else would I call? You’re my Alpha. And you know things.”

“I’m not your Alpha. Not anymore.”

“But you bit me.”

“I also killed you. Did you forget that?”

“You had to. I understood why. Then you taught me how to control my wolf. I thought I was part of your pack.” 

“You were, technically.” Derek sighs, deeply. “It’s because you left, Jackson.”

“I didn’t _leave_ leave. I just moved. It wasn’t even my choice, it was my dad’s decision and I’m still a minor. I didn’t run away or, you know, renounce my pack membership or anything.”

“It doesn’t matter. You still left. I don’t know how it all works, but moving broke your connection to the pack. Too much distance? I don’t know, but I don’t feel the bond anymore. You’re no longer my problem, Jackson.”

“So that’s it? You’re not going to tell me anything? 

“Officially, you’re on your own. You’re an Omega now.”

“An Omega? Like that crazy homeless guy? Is that what’s going to happen to me?” Jackson can’t keep the panic out of his voice.

“Look,” Derek says, making his voice as soothing as he can (he is Derek, after all), “he must have been pretty messed up on top of being an Omega. It takes a while to get as feral as he was. When you’re an Omega, you’ll just slowly get more unstable as time goes on. You should be ok for a while.”

“Oh, that’s really comforting, Derek. I’ll be ok _for a while_???”

“Calm down, Jackson. It’s not an emergency. You just… you need to find a pack over there. I told you before you left, if you're going to live in London, you've got to find a pack in London. Your wolf isn’t going to be happy unless you’re part of a pack.”

“I haven’t even met any werewolves in London. And even if I did, how do I know I can trust them? Complete strangers? You know what some packs are like.”

“Good point.” 

“Is there like, an app for that? 

“A what?”

“An app. Like, Tinder or…” Jackson realizes that Derek’s a little behind on technology. “…eHarmony. A website that matches Omegas with potential packs.”

“Uh… don’t think so.” 

“Well, someone should develop one. They could make a fortune.” 

“O-kay,” Derek says, slow and sarcastic.

And now Jackson’s turning off the idea-generating part of his brain. Because, priorities. But what a great business idea.

“So, that’s why I’m feeling this way? Like I’m sick? Because my wolf wants to find a pack?”

“Mmm… I don’t think so. You should just feel super restless and wolfy. Emotionally disturbed, maybe? That flu thing, I don’t know what that is. That’s not normal.” Jackson can almost hear Derek frowning over the phone. 

“What are you not telling me?”

“Why do you always think I’m keeping something from you?”

“Because you usually are keeping something from me.”

“Look, I’ve got nothing.”

Jackson is speechless. He was sure Derek would have answers. If Derek doesn’t know, who does?

Peter. That’s who. 

Yes, Derek’s Uncle Peter is a total psycho. But sometimes when you need help, you turn to people you’d never expect. 

“Derek, can you ask Peter?”

“No.”

“No? Just no?”

“No. 

Jackson takes a deep breath. “I know you don’t like him. Neither do I. But you know he knows crap that no one else does.”

“Yeah, but I don’t trust him.” 

“I don’t care. He’s all I’ve got right now. Please, Derek, you’ve got to help me.”

“Why should I help you?”

“Because you made me.”

“Because you asked me to.” Derek sounds particularly growly. “You got what you wanted.”

“It didn’t even work. You didn’t warn me that things could go wrong.”

“I told you it could kill you. How much more wrong could it have gone?”

Jackson punches the frame of his closet door. It leaves an impression of his knuckles in the painted wood. If he had hit the drywall instead, his fist would have gone right through.

“Look, Derek,” Jackson says through clenched teeth. “You want me to beg? This is me begging. This is me telling you I’ll do whatever you want. You want money? Some kind of favor? My dad’s got plenty and I can probably make it happen. You want me to get on my knees and suck your cock? Bare my neck for you and be your bitch?” Jackson bites off that last word, swallowing hard at the thought. 

“Whatever you want from me. It’s yours. All I’m asking for is just a little bit of information –” His voice is low now, and shaking. “–because I’m scared as hell and I don’t know why.”

For some reason, he’s sure that Derek is going to hang up on him, but he doesn’t. 

“Jeeze, Jackson, calm the fuck down.”

Jackson says nothing, just growls in a pathetic way into the phone. 

“Ok, look… whatever. I’ll talk to Peter.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you later,” he says as he ends the call abruptly.

‘Later’ turns out to be another twenty-four hours. Meanwhile Jackson paces, and frets, and spends a lot of time tossing and turning in bed. He doesn’t trust himself enough to leave the flat, and he’s too distracted to read or watch tv. 

The one thing he does do, though, is jerk off to porn on his laptop. He finds the whole exercise completely unsatisfying. He’s hard all the time lately, but his normal solution isn’t doing it for him right now. He wonders if it’s related to being an Omega or whatever. 

That night, Derek calls. Actually, Derek calls him, and then makes Jackson call him back. Derek’s not paying for an international call. Not for Jackson. 

Derek chats online with Peter while he talks to Jackson. Derek doesn’t want to actually be in the same room with Peter either. It’s not quite as good as a conference call, but it’ll have to do.

“Peter thinks he knows what’s happening. How long has it been since you left Beacon Hills?”

“Um, just about three months, I think. We were in LA with my mom for a while before we flew to London.”

“And, er… Peter wants to know if you’ve been, ah… horny lately. Sorry.”

“What?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Jackson can practically hear Peter smirking.

“No, I heard you. Uh, yes. I guess? I mean, being a teenage guy and all, I’m pretty much, you know, always ready to go.”

“Uh huh. But more than usual, since you started feeling sick?”

“Yeah.” Jackson thinks for a moment. “It started about the same time. No matter what I do, I’m like, hard all the time. And I have crazy thoughts about… not… not all the time, just when… It comes and goes.” 

“Ok. So, we’re not for sure, but here’s Peter’s best guess…”

Derek conveys Peter’s theory about what is causing Jackson’s symptoms, what happens to wolves who go too long without a pack. Peter lays out Jackson’s options. None of them are appealing. 

And Derek reminds him that it’s only another day until the full moon. So whatever he decides, he doesn’t have much time.

When he hangs up the phone, Jackson sits on the side of the bed, staring off into space, trying to process what Derek and Peter said. He can feel his body, his aches, the way it needs something. It’s unfamiliar, like he’s becoming a different person. A different kind of wolf. He begins to shake, and he wraps his arms around himself, and tries not to cry. 

This is not his life. He’s Jackson Whittemore. He’s strong. He’s awesome. He’s the best at whatever he does. He’s certainly not needy, emotional, and frightened. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need his family. Doesn’t need to be part of a pack. Doesn’t want an Alpha telling him what to do. He’s a leader, not a follower.

Except he’s going to get a pack, whether he wants one or not. A new pack he won’t be able to choose, and will never be able to leave.

He doesn’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity. There’s not enough time for that. He draws a deep breath, and does his best to pull himself together.

He needs to run. That’s his best option. He needs to run as a wolf, but there are too many people in the city, and he needs to get away so he can shift. As fast and as far away as possible. 

Jackson pulls up a map of the London Underground on his laptop and stares at it for a while. He clears his browsing history, powers down his laptop, and turns off his cell phone. 

He grabs a duffle bag out of the closet and thinks about packing it. In the end, he puts his wallet, phone, and passport into the bag. He takes his key ring out of his pocket and stares at it for a while, fingering one of the keys, before putting it in the bag as well. 

Then he stuffs the bag under his bed, pushing it all the way back to the corner where it will be hard to spot. 

He leaves a short, vague note for his father on the kitchen table. Something about a holiday with friends up north. His dad’s on a business trip to Switzerland and won’t be back for two weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe Jackson will be back by then. 

He walks to the nearest train station and takes the first train headed west. Once he’s well out of the city, he gets off. 

He walks into the trees, lets his wolf emerge, and begins to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope to post one chapter a week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who care about such things, POV is basically alternating Jackson/Ianto.

Monday morning, eight-thirty on the dot, and Torchwood Three is sitting around the heavy antique table in the conference room. Ianto is passing out coffees and pastries because, while he prepares the agenda and more or less runs the weekly staff meeting, he’s still the guy who brings the coffee. 

They tried a rota for a while, but it didn’t really take. Toshiko kept messing up the coffee orders; Gwen was always running late. Owen would forget altogether and, even when he didn’t, acted so put out by having to fetch coffee that he was unbearably grouchy for the rest of the day. Jack would just ask Ianto to do it at the last minute, usually with those pleading eyes that Ianto could never say no to. 

So they go over duty schedules, housekeeping matters, and then on to new business. The last item on the agenda has Ianto’s name beside it. 

“So… you’re going to love this one, Jack. Got a call from UNIT yesterday.”

“Oh yeah? Anything fun? I’ll bet they called to invite us to their annual New Year’s Eve party.”

“No, not the fun kind of call. Remember a while back, we caught a Kanima, that big lizard thing?”

“Huge? Big tail?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember. That one was a pain in the arse. Paralyzing venom, right? Glad they took it off our hands.”

“Well, there’s another one headed our way and UNIT wants us to pick it up for them, seeing as we’re right here and all. And, technically, it’s alien, so it’s our jurisdiction anyway.”

“What do you mean, ‘technically’?” says Jack. “Looked pretty alien to me.”

Ianto has an A/V presentation prepared (of course), so he turns on the big screen and connects his laptop. 

“The Kanima isn’t an alien per se, but rather a shape-shifting alien virus that infects humans.”

“So wait, that thing we picked up was actually human?”

“Yep.”

“Infected with an alien virus?”

“Yep.”

“And what did UNIT do with it?”

“Don’t know. I can’t find any records of it in their database.”

“You accessed UNIT’s database?” It’s not really a question.

“Their super-secret one?”

“Yep.”

“And now UNIT wants us to pick up this one and hand it over to them, as well?”

“They didn’t specify, but that would be my presumption.”

“Huh.” 

Ianto knows what that means. “Huh,” in that particular inflection, is Jack trying to sound agreeable as an alternative to, “Hell, no.”

“They say it’s coming our way? So where is it now?”

“Hang on a moment,” says Gwen. “How does UNIT know where it is and where it’s headed? Did they tag it?”

“Nope.”

“They have pretty good tech, but they don’t have the surveillance capability required for that degree of tracking,” Toshiko adds, looking over Ianto’s shoulder. 

“So… it seems that several years back, the UK launched a communications satellite,” Ianto explains. He’s got a graphic queued up for this one, too. 

“Torchwood One was able to get a biotech scanner on it. Among other things, it detects certain alien biosigns, including viruses.”

“No shit. They had an alien-detecting bioscanner in geosynchronous orbit. And they never told us about it. The bastards!” says Jack.

“Figures,” says Gwen.

“Well, they’re all dead bastards now, so, karma and all that. Sorry, Ianto.” Toshiko frowns and tilts her head towards him a little as she says this. They forget, sometimes. 

Ianto clears his throat before he continues. “I heard rumors about it when I worked at One. My assumption was the satellite feed must have been lost or decommissioned after Canary Wharf. But when the UNIT contact mentioned they were tracking a Kanima this morning, I acted like I already knew they were getting data from the satellite, and she didn’t deny it. Then I did some digging.

“The bioscanner detects alien DNA and RNA, including shape-shifting viruses. It can’t pinpoint them with great accuracy, and there are all sorts of things which interfere -- cloud cover, aluminium roofs, concrete buildings, and so on. But by detecting the presence of alien genetic material and tracking the data over time, Torchwood -- and now UNIT -- can determine how many alien virus-infected organisms inhabit a particular geographic location, whether they are moving or static, swarming, and so forth.

“For several months, the bioscanner detected Kanima activity here.” He zooms in on a location in northern California. 

“Since it’s in the States, UNIT didn’t have the jurisdiction to make the pick-up. More importantly, they don’t want the Americans to know they have this technology, so they just watch.”

“Ah.”

“Then, about four months ago, the life form disappears suddenly.”

“Deceased?”

“That’s what they assumed at first. But, soon after, it reappears, not as strong a signature as before. Still the same type of bio sign, same virus strain, still in the same area,” he says, pointing to the map, where a town named “Beacon Hills” is highlighted.

“So… what does that mean?”

“Not sure. Owen, look at this, will you?”

“Hm. It’s some residual RNA. Not enough to constitute an entire organism, I don’t think. You could have one creature with a very low virus level, maybe a dormant virus in a human’s bloodstream. Or someone’s transporting virus-laden blood or body parts. Or it infected a medium-sized animal.”

Ianto pulls up more maps. 

“Three months ago, UNIT tracked the movement of the alien RNA down to the San Francisco area, then on to Los Angeles. It’s there for a few weeks, then they lose the signal. Twelve hours later, UNIT starts detecting traces of the same strain of RNA in London.”

“Almost as if someone got on a plane, flew from LAX to Heathrow?”

“Exactly like that, yes.”

“Wouldn’t someone have noticed a Kanima on an airplane?”

“Maybe not if it took human form. It is a shape-shifter virus, after all.”

“Bloody hell,” someone says. 

“Other possibilities?”

“It might have been a cargo shipment. Trafficking in alien body parts?”

“Could be. But look here, the alien signature remains in the greater London area for the next eight weeks. Until yesterday morning, when it begins to move westward. For a while, it’s path and speed coincided exactly with this rail line. Then starting at this point, it diverges. Obviously got off the train. Since then, it’s been moving at an average of 48 kilometers per hour, still in a generally westward direction.”

“That’s pretty fast if it’s on foot.”

“It’s faster than a human, but too slow for a vehicle. Bicycle, maybe, or scooter, but there are no paved roads or even designated trails along that path.”

“And UNIT couldn’t have conveniently apprehended the alien when it was in London?”

“It’s not like GPS, you can’t pinpoint the location with precision, especially in a city with all those tall buildings. Urban pickups are tricky as it is, you know that. Plus, there’d been a lot of overcast days. The data was clearer once it moved out of the city.”

“Last known location?”

Ianto scrolls in on a particular area.

“It looks like our best trajectory for intercept is here, in the forest. Will take us less than an hour to get there.”

“Well, we might as well do this right now, then. Let’s pack up and drive here, take this road off the highway,” Jack points. “We’ll spread out along this line. Owen, prepare the tranquilizer darts for a creature of the appropriate size.”

“Got it.”

“Gwen, pack up the gear.”

“Tosh, keep monitoring it’s movements. Let’s see if we can narrow down its location. Do some extrapolating or whatever it is you do. See if we can get a visual, too.”

“Ianto, check flight manifests and passport control for flights leaving Los Angeles and arriving at the London airports on that date. See if any of those passengers list Beacon Hills as their home address. And check cargo manifests for shipments that day.”

“Already on it.”

“We’ll get this thing. Assemble in the garage in,” he pauses dramatically, “half an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days. Don't get spoiled! Once vacation ends, I'll probably only be able to post one chapter a week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest Reader, I had fully intended to post one chapter a week, but was unfortunately hit with an illness which made it difficult, at times, to get out of bed, much less sit at my laptop for any length of time. Was it the 'rona? Test came back negative, but I had all the symptoms, so who knows? 
> 
> Either way, here is the next chapter, in which our hero Jackson meets the Torchwood team (briefly). It's a short chapter, and a three-day weekend, so if I can manage chapter four too, I will, but no promises. Then it's back to a once-a-week schedule. Enjoy!

Sometimes it really sucks, being a Beta. Or an Omega, if that’s what Jackson is now. Yeah, he can run super-fast, but he still has to use his hands. If he was an Alpha, he’d be able to shift into a real wolf and run on all fours.

But that wouldn’t be the best part. If he were a wolf, he’d be able to completely shut down his human brain. The one that thinks and is afraid. 

He’s afraid because he doesn’t understand what’s happening to his body, and doesn't want what will inevitably happen to him if an Alpha catches him. He’s afraid because he’s alone, because he’s a wolf and his only pack or friends are five thousand miles away. 

And he’s afraid because he really doesn’t have an endgame in mind. His only plan is to run, run, as fast as he can, away from civilization and towards someplace with fewer people and, presumably, fewer werewolves. On second thought, maybe the forest wasn’t his best option. 

His limited knowledge of geography tells him that the English Channel lies southeast of London, so he runs in a generally west-northwest direction. Of course, once he is off the train and into the woods, he loses his bearings for a while until the full moon rises.

He becomes terrified when he senses the Alphas approaching. This doesn’t happen until he’s been on the run for a couple hours, and until then he had almost convinced himself it wouldn’t go down the way Peter and Derek said. First one, then two, then several. 

He can hear them howling in the woods around him, hear their hearts beating, hear the sounds of them running through the trees. If he stops, for just a moment, and the breeze is blowing the right way, he can smell them. They smell like wolf, and more. They smell excited. Aroused. He has a good head start, but they run faster than him and they’re catching up. He’s been running all night, and he’s tired.

A small part of him wants the Alphas to catch him. That scares the hell out of him.

Then he hears the humans, hears their heartbeats and their hushed words, the soft beep of their mobile phones and electronics. Just as the Alphas are closing in behind him, he realizes the humans are fanned out before him. They’re not just locals out for a hike. They knew he was coming, and they’re ready for him. 

The trap has been sprung and he’s caught tight. Something sharp pierces his shoulder, and he goes down. The darkness is a relief. 

# # # 

Torchwood have taken up positions in a clearing in the woods, just off a gravel road wide enough to get their black SUV onto. They are armed with a few pieces of alien tech, tranquilizing guns, and some lethal weapons, just in case. 

They hear a noise off to one side, a crashing through the underbrush, and something small and furry darts across the clearing. It’s a hare, and it looks terrified. It's followed by a second one, and then a wild boar. Something noisier is approaching fast behind them.

Just then, they hear a howl. Then another, and then another. 

“Wolves.”

“There are no wolves in Wales, Jack. Went extinct in the sixteenth century.”

“Well, I’ve been around a while, Ianto, and I’m pretty sure those are wolves.”

They all look at each other. But only for a moment, because just then the thing which has been coming finally crashes into the clearing, and Owen quite expertly takes it down with a shot to the shoulder. 

They surround the drugged creature, Ianto and Owen going around the far side to get a better look, and they all stare down at it for a moment. 

“What is it?”

“I thought Kanima were big scaly things. Reptiles. With tails.”

“They are.”

“And this is…?”

“Not a Kanima.”

“It looks like…” the statement is cut off by another round of howling in the woods.

“– a werewolf?”

There’s a pause while no one speaks. They all seemed shocked, but only just for a moment. Everyone has their own theory. Wolf-man hybrid? Shifter? A new kind of alien?

Ianto and Owen have their back to the tree line, which is obviously a mistake, because along the ridge appears a wolf. Yes, an actual not-extinct wolf, and moreover, it’s huge, and they have turned their backs to it like the effective and prepared Torchwood team they are. 

It stares at them for a moment before it snarls and advances towards them. 

A second wolf appears out of the trees. They don’t have the firepower for the number of wolves which are, from the sound of things, about to converge on their location. They were expecting a single monster take-down, not a battle with a small lupine army. But before anyone has time to react, the two wolves begin to growl and circle each other, preparing to fight. 

“Quick, let’s get this one loaded in the vehicle while they’re distracted.”

Jack, Ianto, and Gwen lift the creature they’ve caught, while Owen and Tosh grab the gear and run for the SUV. But the snarling tangle of wolves – which by now has grown from two to three – heaves itself from one side of the clearing to the other, and nearly flattens Ianto. 

Ianto winces as one of the wolves’ claws penetrates the leg of his trousers. As they load the body into the back of the SUV, he can feel a little trickle of blood run down into his sock. It hurts but he can still walk just fine, so he doesn’t think the scratch goes too deep. He should stop for first aid, but they’d better get the hell out of there, so it will have to wait. 

He’s shut the back lid of the SUV and is just going around to the side, when one of the wolves breaks free of the pack and approaches him aggressively. He should run, should just jump into the back seat and slam the door, but he stands transfixed by the amber eyes of the wolf staring right into his. The wolf stalks forward. Ianto can’t move.

The wolf crouches to spring, and the spell is broken. Ianto, as if by instinct, draws his gun from the holster, widens his stance, and fires. 

The bullet hits the wolf square in the throat and drops him. 

Ianto ducks into the vehicle, but before he does he sees that the other wolves have descended on the fallen wolf like sharks in a feeding frenzy. There’s blood, and a lot of it. 

They drive away, Jack at the wheel, Owen in the way back so he can monitor the drugged creature. Behind them, they can still see and hear the wolves, snarling, fighting, howling. 

“You all right, Ianto?”

“Yeah. Just a little shaky. I think I killed it.”

“You weren’t hurt, though?”

“No.”

“Good shot.” 

Ianto sighs. If there really are wolves in Wales again, are they an endangered species? Is it illegal to shoot them? Not that, as a Torchwood employee, there will be any legal consequences to him personally. Still…

“Ianto. We need to get to work. Find out what’s going on.”

Ianto tries to shake it off. He’ll process this later with Jack. They’re good together that way. He pulls out his lapbook and starts typing. Tosh already has hers out. 

“Ooh… now this is interesting.”

Tosh leans over to look and makes a little “hm” noise in agreement.

“Got it. There were two passengers from Beacon Hills who entered the UK on the date in question, flying from LAX. Same last name and, from their ages, I’m guessing father and son. Names are David Whittemore and Jackson Whittemore.”

“This… thing… looks young, from what I can tell under all the hair. Smooth body, nice muscles.” This from Owen in the back seat. 

“Owen, you perv.”

Owen just rolls his eyes at her. 

“Then we can assume that’s Jackson currently occupying our boot.”

“Continuing on,” Ianto says, clearing his throat, “over the last couple years, there have been an unusually high number of animal-related stories in the local Beacon Hills news media. People killed by wild animals, strange animal behavior, motor vehicle collisions with deer, and so forth. Excessively high murder rate, too, given all demographic factors.”

“All indications of alien activity in the area.”

“Right. The bioscanner was only picking up Kanima viruses, though, not werewolf.”

“Doesn’t make sense. Anything unusual reported around the time the alien lifeform first disappeared?”

“Hm… there was a news article on April 8 about - ”

“Oh my god,” says Tosh. 

“What?”

“Took a while because I had to hack in, but I ran a search on local government records, and finally got a ping on the Whittemores.”

“And…?”

“There was a death certificate initiated for a Jackson Whittemore in Beacon Hills on that date. It was never finalized; it’s still saved as a draft on the server, so it’s not in the public records. The cause of death is left blank.”

“Theories?”

As usual, everyone had one, though most involved the zombie apocalypse. And Jackson couldn’t be like Jack, could he be? Immortal, perpetually resurrecting being. Because that could only have happened once. 

“At least we know we’ve got the right man.”

“Or the right wolf man.”

“Yeah, well. We’ve got a bigger problem, though.”

At this point, they’ve made it back to the hub and Jack parks right at the garage door. He turns around to look at them all as they wait for him to continue.

“What am I going to tell UNIT?”


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson wakes up on a cold, rough concrete floor. He’s naked, and still in his beta form. He tries to shift back, but he can’t. The flu symptoms he’d been having are worse, he’s still achy, needy, and he can’t pinpoint why. A profound sense of loneliness settles on him. 

He remembers people he left in Beacon Hills, those who would have been his pack; people who might have become his friends, if only he hadn’t been such an asshole, and how much he would like someone, any one of them, to be here with him. 

And to be brutally honest, he didn’t have friends so much as frenemies. Other than his best friend Danny, he had only just begun to make friends with Allison. But Allison was with Scott, and Jackson was with Lydia, and men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way. So that friendship was going nowhere. 

Funny, he hardly thinks of Lydia since he moved to London. Instead, he’s just imagining the wolves – mainly Derek and Scott; but also Isaac, even Peter – here with him, holding him, comforting him. He can imagine them cuddling him. He really could use a cuddle right now. That’s a bizarre thought, because he’s never been much of a cuddler. Nor did he have any kind of a relationship with them that would potentially lead to cuddling, although all that touching seems like a very wolfy thing to do. Now he aches for it. 

And then he begins to have other thoughts.

He can’t control the images that course through his brain. They come at him, unbidden, taunting him. His packmates’ hands all over him, touching him. Fondling him. 

He decides he’s hallucinating. When he tries to focus on just one face, one pair of hands on him, it’s Derek who comes to mind. There’s a hole in his heart where an Alpha should be. He yearns for his maker, his Alpha, to accept him, to claim him as his own. His wolf wants to submit to Derek in every possible way, no matter how much Jackson personally hates the idea. He can’t deconstruct which part of his desire comes from the Omega heat, and which part is normal werewolf instinct. But he wants, and he can’t have, and the want causes him pain. 

He can still remember the way Derek smells, the deep rumble of his voice. The fact that Derek only ever treated him with murderous contempt, well – that only turns Jackson on more. Derek gave him just what he deserved. 

Jackson’s never been so aroused, and he’s squirming desperately there on the floor. With his claws extended, he couldn’t jack off even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to, not really. Though his cock is hard and leaking, he doesn’t just need an orgasm. He needs to be dominated, to be fucked, to be claimed and owned. His human side doesn’t want it and can’t understand it, but his wolf is desperate. 

Not satisfied with just one disturbing sexual thought, as he drifts in and out of consciousness, his Omega brain conjures up Peter next. Yes, Peter fucking him would be twisted and dark and so, so wrong. Deliciously so. The phrase “daddy kink” comes to mind. And Jackson’s got daddy issues, they just come with being adopted no matter how wonderful your parents are, so yeah. He’s thought about hitting that. 

And then there’s McCall, the little twerp. Why does his hallucination have to include him? He’s better than Scott, always has been, but Scott was turned first, and suddenly that Nobody became co-captain of the Lacrosse team, hanging out with the popular kids and scoring a super-hot, super-nice girlfriend. Jackson worked hard for everything he had, and then McCall came along and took it away just because he happened to be out in the woods at the wrong time. 

Scott didn’t even want the bite. Not fair. 

Scott taking him would be totally humiliating. He can picture himself in the boys’ locker room at school, bracing himself against one of the wooden benches, fingers gripped tight over the edge, with the entire team watching Scott mount him. It’s basically his worst nightmare, socially speaking, and it runs through his head on a continuous anxiety-inducing loop. 

So why does the thought of bending over for McCall make his face flush and his toes tingle?

He breaks out into a cold sweat. His skin itches, and he craves. He squirms in agony as wave after wave of pain and desire wash over him. It starts deep in his core, in his gut, and blooms outward. He thinks he can’t take it anymore. But he does – he has no choice but to lie there and go through hell. 

Jackson loses track of time. There’s no window in his cell. It might be days or just hours that he’s been here. He passes in and out of consciousness, dreaming. Eventually, exhausted and wrung out, he surrenders to deep sleep. 

# # # 

They’re all lined up in the hallway, getting a good look at the creature in the cell through the one-way glass. It’s humanoid, of average size and height, but then there are fangs, and claws on its fingers and toes, pointy ears and nose, and a whole lot of excess body hair. 

It’s semi-conscious now, and writhing on the floor. It’s obviously in intense pain or discomfort of some kind, and there are all kinds of groans and whimpering noises coming out of it.

If Ianto didn’t know better, he’d think the thing was sexually frustrated; and after he has this thought, he’s almost embarrassed to watch it, as if they ought to give the creature some privacy.

Finally, Jack speaks. “We were expecting it to be more… lizard like.”

Archie scratches his chin. “How so?”

“We were tracking a Kanima, or so we thought. We’ve caught one before – they’re usually scaly and reptilian.”

“Ah, now that explains it,” Archie replies. “So you’re using the UNIT data from the satellite, I take it.”

“You knew? About the satellite?”

Archie chuckles.

“And you didn’t tell us.”

“Bloody Torchwood.”

“Bloody UNIT.”

“The Kanima virus and the Werewolf viruses are very similar, despite the difference in the creatures’ physical appearance. They’re all mutations from the same original alien shapeshifter virus.”

“Hold on just a minute.” Ianto scrolls through something on his tablet and finally says, “We have no data on werewolf viruses. I thought we just weren’t getting data from Beacon Hills. But the bioscanner is collecting data on one hundred twenty-six different alien viruses, none of them werewolf.”

“Now that’s odd.” Archie thinks for a moment. “There’s a rumor that the royal family is infected with a dormant werewolf virus. Goes all the way back to the time of Queen Victoria. Maybe the lack of data is intentional.”

“As interesting as this speculation is, let’s deal with that later. How come we were tracking a Kanima and got a Werewolf? And what the hell’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure why he’s registering on the sensors as a Kanima. Somehow he’s picked up some Kanima RNA. Maybe you can learn his history when he returns to his human form.”

“And we can expect that to happen when?”

“In a couple days, maybe sooner. As for what’s wrong with it…”

“Yes?”

“What you have here is a male omega werewolf in heat.”


	5. Chapter 5

“As for what’s wrong with it…what you have here is a male omega werewolf in heat.”

“A male werewolf? In heat?”

“How is that biologically possible?”

“What’s an omega?”

“It’s like this,” Archie begins, “wolves are pack animals. An omega werewolf is one without a pack, for whatever reason. They can be unpredictable, even dangerous, because without an alpha and a pack to anchor them, they’re unbalanced, and have difficulty controlling their emotions, which leads to unpredictable shifting to their werewolf form, violence, and eventually insanity. 

"And it seems that nature abhors a lone wolf. So four times a year, around the time of the full moon, an omega will go into heat. Both the males and the females.

“The scent of an omega in heat, and the sound of its cries, will drive any Alpha crazy. The first Alpha to get to the omega will claim it, and bond the omega to himself and to his pack. It’s why we so rarely come across omegas. Over time, they become so increasingly unstable and disruptive that Torchwood surely would have noticed if there were tones of them.”

“That’s why all those wolves were in the forest when we picked this one up. They were hunting this one so they could claim it.”

Ianto feels the rub of the gauze between his calf and the leg of his trousers, where the wolf scratched him. It was deeper than he first thought. Owen had cleaned and bandaged it, and Ianto had made him promise not to tell anyone about the scratch, at least until they know what it  _ means _ . Because maybe it’s nothing. 

“So those wolves were actually werewolves? How come this one doesn’t look like a wolf?”

“Only the Alphas have the ability to fully shift into a wolf.”

“So the non-Alpha werewolves are half-wolves?”

“Betas, to be exact.”

“You said one of the Alphas would claim the Omega. How does that happen, exactly?”

“It seems to involve mating, accompanied by a bite of some sort.”

“Mating?”

“Penetration.”

“Huh.” That particular expression came from Jack.

“So if one of those wolves had… claimed this one, it would have been its mate? Because I’ve got to tell you, from an evolutionary standpoint…”

Archie shakes his head. “It’s different. A mating bond between two werewolves is like a marriage. It could be an Alpha and a Beta, two Betas, even two Alphas, though that’s rare. It’s a very strong, very intimate connection. A pack bond is used by an Alpha to join an Omega to his pack. It’s not as strong, but it’s considered unbreakable on the part of the Omega.”

“How do you know all this?”

Archie smirks. “Sources,” is all he says. “And years, dare I say centuries, of careful research. Even most werewolves don’t know about the Pack Bond. It’s rather a closely-guarded secret. Used to be, information of this sort was passed down from generation to generation. But werewolf families are less cohesive these days. Like humans, they’ve become more spread out geographically. Less hierarchical and territorial. Over time, their history and culture tends to get lost. We do our best to document as much as possible.”

There is a moment of silence as they pause to watch Jackson writhing on the floor. The creature’s discomfort seems to come and go in waves, and right now a swell is breaking. 

“So what do we do for it? It appears to be suffering. Can you recommend any drugs that would be safe?” says Owen.

“The effect of drugs on werewolf physiology is extremely temporary. Add in the risk of administering them, and it’s hardly worth it.”

“We could find another werewolf for it to mate with. Would that relieve its… suffering?”

There’s a jumble of voices as several people try to talk at once.

“Quiet!” Jack yells to get them to shut up. “One at a time.”

“I’d like to point out that the creature – uh, Jackson, yeah? Was clearly running away from the Alpha wolves. Pretty sure he didn’t want to be caught.”

“And,” Archie says, “consent issues aside, it would be quite dangerous to try to capture an Alpha wolf and transport it. An aroused Alpha is extremely strong, and as intelligent as a human. It would not be as easy to contain as an Omega. Wouldn’t want any of you to get bitten.” 

“Is that how the virus is transmitted? Through saliva?” says Ianto.

“That’s one way. Children born to werewolves are almost always werewolves, particularly if one of their parents is an Alpha. Otherwise, a bite of an Alpha will turn a human into a werewolf.”

“What about a scratch?” Ianto asks. 

“If the claws go deep enough, maybe. We have a lot of anecdotal evidence, but nothing definitive for transmission by a scratch.”

“If this one isn’t an Alpha, he can’t transmit the virus, so how dangerous is he?”

“He could easily injure or even kill someone. I’d leave him alone until he shifts back to human form. Don’t go in there under any circumstances. After he shifts back and remains human, he’ll still be stronger than you all, and potentially dangerous, but as long as he seems cooperative and in control, you should be able to talk to him.”

Archie turns toward Owen. “When his heat’s over, he’ll be very hungry and tired. Feed him well and make sure he gets plenty of rest. It will take a few days for the effects of the heat to completely wear off. Until then, it’ll come and go. Just keep him inside and away from any other werewolves.” He pauses. “You should probably keep him away from Jack, too.”

# # #

“Jack?” Ianto says, after all the others have left.

“Hm?” Jack asks, “What is it Ianto?”

“That wolf I shot in the clearing. It wasn’t a wolf. It was a shape-shifter.”

Jack pauses, not sure what to make of the question. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“So… I’ve killed a person, then. Not an animal.”

“Oh. Not exactly. A shape-shifter in animal form. Part alien. Besides, you’re not that good with a gun. You sure you hit it? ”

“Yes, I’m certain, but… I’m not sure how I feel about that.” 

“Ianto, it was clearly self-defense. You probably saved your own life, or one of your teammates. Don’t feel bad about it.” 

“I’m not sure I can… it’s more blood on my hands, you know?” he says, as he looks away, into the cell where the werewolf still writhes. 

“Ianto.”

Ianto doesn’t respond at first. 

“Ianto.” Jack reaches over to palm the side of Ianto’s face, turning it towards him. 

“Hm?” 

“I know you. I know your soul. You wouldn’t harm any living thing without good cause. You did what you had to do. No one would blame you.

Ianto just leans his head against Jack’s shoulder, and doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson meets the Torchwood team.

Jackson wakes to find himself wrapped in a blanket. He still feels awful, but the blanket provides some comfort. Not just because it’s warm, but also because it means someone cared enough to put a blanket over him. Ok, yeah, probably the same person who locked him in this cell in the first place, so why should it even matter to him that someone gave him a blanket? But it does.

He looks around. There’s a bench made from the same concrete as the floor, and three walls that are similar in texture. The fourth wall is glass, and he can see through it, barely. 

He gets up and touches it. Actually, it’s more like a thick plexiglass, and there are holes drilled in it at about his height. He sticks his fingers through the holes and wiggles them. 

The corridor on the other side is empty, and he calls out a few times.

“Hello? Hey!”

But no one answers.

He goes back and grabs the blanket off the floor, wraps himself in it, and sits on the bench, his back resting against the wall. He’s in his human form now. His cock is still painfully hard, though he doesn’t feel particularly aroused. He adjusts himself and shifts on the bench to get comfortable.

Jackson must have dozed, because he wakes up when he hears the door at the end of the hall open. It’s heavy and metal, like he expects the doors on a battleship or submarine would be. 

Two men enter, one wearing a suit, the other in surgical scrubs. The suited man opens the door to the cell and puts down a couple bottles of water and a plate of food. He does this quickly and Jackson doesn’t have time to react. He might have been able to make it to the door before it’s locked again, but he doesn’t even try. He’s tired and weak, not to mention the embarrassment of being naked and hard. 

Instead he shuffles off the bench, gripping the blanket around him, and over to the plate of food. He holds it up and gives it his best wolf inhale. It smells like it should, not like it has any drugs or poisons in it, though it’s not as if he has a great deal of experience with those things.

Anyway, if they wanted to kill him or drug him, the guy in the scrubs is holding what looks to be a tranq dart on a long stick. He can’t think of a reason for them to put something in his food, seeing how he’s weak and locked in a cell, though it doesn’t hurt to be careful. 

The water is sealed, so he opens one and slams it down all in one go. 

He picks up the plate and takes it back to the bench. As he’s about to eat, he looks up and makes eye contact with the suited guy. The suit is standing, watching him, arms crossed. His gaze is sharp and intense. 

Scrubs is fiddling with some piece of tech that makes Jackson think of a Tricorder from Star Trek, and the way that Scrubs looks up at him, and then down at the screen. 

Jackson digs into the food, and the two men leave. After they go, he realizes that none of the three of them spoke.

Jackson feels a little better after the food, and he tries walking around his cell for a bit. He thinks that with a sharp instrument, maybe with just his claws, he could tunnel through the concrete. It seems old and a bit crumbly. But something about this place – maybe it’s the lack of light – leads him to believe that he’s deep underground, and he’s not sure where he would go even if he could escape the cell. At least he’s safe from the Alphas here. 

There’s no bathroom in the cell, but there is a drain in the center of the floor, and when he gets desperate, he uses it. Good thing he only needs to pee. He wonders if it would be Scrubs or Suit who would have to clean up his shit if it came to that. As it is, it takes him ten minutes of mental baseball statistics to get his erection to subside enough to empty his bladder. 

He’s taken another nap – a much longer one this time. It was restful, despite waking once to the awful pain and craving, which thankfully subsided quickly. Maybe he’s even slept all night, and he wakes to the sound of his name.

“Jackson, can you hear me? Are you awake? That is your name, yeah? Jackson?”

He sits up. Scrubs is back, along with a brunette woman. She’s got bangs and wears a cropped black jacket over tight jeans. He still has no clue what sort of facility he’s in, who these people are who have locked him up, and adding her to the mix isn’t giving him much more to go on. 

When he looks over at her, she smiles at him, and there’s a gap between her front teeth. It might be a little sexy, though she’s clearly too old for him. Maybe. Right now, he’s not too picky. 

He runs his hand over his head and tries to clear the cobwebs. “How do you know my name?” he says to her.

She tilts her head towards him, as if she has to think about the answer. “That’s actually a bit complicated. We have some questions for you, and then maybe we can answer some of your questions as well. How does that sound?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

She has an accent that’s not quite Irish or Scots, but might be northern if he had to guess. Did he run all the way to Wales? Maybe it’s Welsh. Two months wasn’t enough for him to get all the different British accents down. All he knows is she’s not from anywhere near London.

“How are you feeling right now?” That question came from Scrubs. 

“Like crap. What do you think?” 

“Do you feel like moving?”

“Moving?”

“Can you walk? I’d like to run some medical tests. Upstairs,” he says, jerking his head towards the door. “That’s going to require some cooperation on your part.”

“We’ll let you shower, get you a hot meal, some clothes. You look cold,” says the chick.

He’s starving and chilled and feels disgusting, so he doesn’t even try to hide his eagerness at the offer. 

“Yeah, I can walk.”

“We need your assurances that you’re not going to hurt anyone or try to escape. Otherwise we can just keep you locked in this cell for… well, for the rest of your life if it comes to that. There’s really no place for you to run to, anyway.”

“Isn’t that… illegal. To keep me locked up forever. I mean, if I’ve been arrested, I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Not going to happen, mate,” Scrubs says.

“So I’ve actually been kidnapped? Or are y’all radical animal rights people? But in reverse, I guess. You know, instead of ‘Free the Wolves’ you lock them up?”

Accent chick actually laughs at that. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Look, we don’t mean you any harm. You’re down here for your own protection, as well as ours. You act nice, and you can come out.” 

Ok, so they’re doing the ‘good cop/bad cop’ routine. He can play along with that.

“Do you feel… in control of yourself right now?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He takes a deep breath.

“You sure?”

“I’m good. Let’s go.”

The woman has brought a set of scrubs, he sees, and she shoves them through the slot in the door. “When you’re dressed, turn around and put your hands behind your back. Have to cuff you for the trip upstairs. It’s policy,” she says, her tone apologetic. 

He complies, and she slaps the handcuffs on him with practiced efficiency. She walks next to him, one hand gently but firmly holding his arm, while scrubs-guy-with-the-tranq follows behind. Jackson’s a little shaky, but fine to walk. There’s some corridors, and some more corridors, and an elevator. It’s all very dungeon-like. And then…

Jackson stifles a gasp as he enters what must be the central room of the facility. It’s huge, several stories high. It’s incredibly beautiful, and at the same time incredibly chaotic. There’s computers and monitors, very expensive and high end as far as he can tell; a variety of office furniture that looks like a surplus sale spanning every era and style going back to Victorian. There’s a… river? moat? running through it. There are tunnels and doors, ramps and stairs placed in a haphazard manner, work benches in odd corners. The ADA and OSHA people would have a field day with this place. There are things in tubes that glow, and for a moment he thinks that he has landed in the middle of the set of a gothic Sci-Fi movie. 

It’s really too much to take in all at once. 

When he gets over the initial shock, he looks around. There are a few other people here who he hasn’t seen before. An Asian woman looks up from a bank of computer monitors and stares at him as he walks by. He spots the Suit one level up in what looks like a small kitchen, and he can detect another heartbeat in an office on a mezzanine level.

Scrubs nudges him. “Tour later. This way, please.” He leads the way around to what is obviously a medical area. It’s not a separate room, more like a sunken enclosure, and distinctly creepy in an ‘about to be tortured’ kind of way.

Scrubs pats the exam table in the middle of the room and Jackson hops up on it. It’s a little hard to maneuver with his hands still cuffed behind his back, but he manages with just a little help. The table is hard and sterile, but it’s covered with a sheet and a puddle pad, and it’s an improvement over the stone bench in his cell. Scrubs is puttering around with the equipment. 

The dark-haired woman comes with a pillow and a blanket, the kind of starchy cotton ones they give you in the hospital, but he’s glad to have it. She also uncuffs his wrists, reattaching one to a chain on the table, which leaves his other hand free. Jackson thinks it would be nice to curl up on his side and take another nap.

Scrubs grabs a file and flips it open, scooting over in front of him on one of those rolling doctor stools.

“Jackson Whittemore, age 17?”

“That would be me.”

“Birthdate?”

“June 15, 1994” Jackson’s voice cracks a little when he says the date. 

“I’m Owen Harper, by the way. You can call me Doctor Harper.”

“You’re a doctor? Great facility you have here. Very modern. I’ll bet your patients are just flocking in.”

“None of my other patients complain. Of course, that’s because most of my patients are dead. This –“ he pauses, spinning his index finger in a little circle “ ‘facility’ as you put it, is an autopsy bay. So if you’re looking for great bedside manner, you’ve come to the wrong place, mate.”

“Oh.” 

Jackson wants to make some comment about how it wasn’t exactly his choice to be here, but given the number of scalpels and scary-looking saw things lying about, he decides the snarky comments can wait until later. 

Scrubs continues, asking his height and weight, any medical conditions they should know about, “besides the obvious, of course.” 

Jackson answers quite a few questions about how his head feels, whether he’s dizzy, and so on. Owen takes a blood sample and spends a while looking at it under a microscope, at which point he makes lots of “uh hunh” noises, as if unsurprised by what he sees. 

The physical exam is surprisingly simple, given his situation, and relatively painless as far as these things go: a mix of the usual stuff – stethoscope, otoscope, beeping machines attached with sensors to his chest and scalp – and more of the futuristic tricorder tech gadgets. Then Owen has him lie flat on the table.

There’s the requisite palpation of his abdomen, a quick check of his testicles, and – thank god – nothing more invasive than that. 

“I’m going to want a urine sample, but it looks like that will have to wait a while.” Owen’s seen his erection, of course, and no, he doesn’t think Jackson got turned on when he fondled his balls. “How long has it been like that?”

“Um, since before I got here?”

“That long? Well, I’m going to assume that it’s just a symptom of your heat, but if it doesn’t subside soon, it could indicate some other problem, so be sure to let me know.”

“My what?”

“Your heat cycle?”

That’s what Peter had called it, too, but he’s surprised that these people know that. And if they didn’t know about werewolves before, they do now. 

“So you know I’m…”

“A shape shifter? An omega werewolf? Yeah mate, got the memo. Did you have any idea what’s been happening to you? Was that your first heat?” Owen asks.

“Yeah. I just moved here a couple months ago, and I guess being so far away from my pack triggered it. I called my-- my Alpha when I started feeling bad, and he told me what to expect.” A lie, but close enough to the truth. 

“So you had a pack, before you moved here? A werewolf pack? In Beacon Hills?”

It’s the brunette who says this, and suddenly Jackson realizes that they now have the  attention of everyone in the room, it seems to be what they’ve all been waiting for, and one by one people begin to drift over to the medical bay.

There are more rapid-fire questions. Jackson tries to be as vague as possible while still appearing cooperative. The questions are freaking him out a little, though. They know a lot about him.

The suit guy brings him some tea (“Unless you’d prefer coffee?”) and cookies. 

“You’re hungry, I imagine? We’ve ordered some takeaway – Italian, thought you could use the carbs.”

“Um. Thanks,” Jackson says, because it’s the polite thing to say, though he’s a bit irritated at thanking his abductors merely for feeding him and it probably comes through in his vocal tone. 

The suggestion is made that he get cleaned up before the food comes. He’s all sweaty and there’s something flaky all over his thighs and abdomen, which he assumes is dried jizz, though he doesn’t actually remember that happening. If he had an orgasm in the last seventy-two hours, it certainly wasn’t enjoyable. 

The suit – Ianto is his name – takes him into a locker room and rummages in the cubbies for some spare clothes. He stays there with him while Jackson showers and dresses, though he seems uninterested in looking at Jackson naked, making a point of turning his head as he hands him a towel. 

He also gives him a toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving supplies and shows him where he can keep them. Jackson’s mouth feels like something crawled up and died in there, so brushing is about the most awesome thing he’s done today. 

Jackson pulls on a baggy, long-sleeved Henley and a pair of sweatpants over a new-from-the-package pair of boxer briefs. They are loose and slightly itchy, and don’t do a thing to contain his issue. 

Ianto notices. Of course he does. 

“Perhaps you’d like a few moments of privacy?” He nods in the general direction of Jackson’s crotch. “Before I put the handcuffs back on?”

“Uh…” Jackson blushes and doesn’t quite know what to say. “It doesn’t… um, it doesn’t help anything. There’s nothing I can do about it. Believe me, I’ve tried. Repeatedly.”

“Oh. Forgive me for mentioning it.”

Jackson just shrugs.

“Not the first time something like this has happened, you know. We’ve seen everything. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Really? You’ve seen werewolves in heat before?” He tries not to sneer as he says it, but doesn’t quite succeed. 

“Well, no, not exactly that. But unusual stuff? Strange plant pollen which causes overwhelming arousal, leading to spontaneous orgies? Demons who feed off the sexual energy of orgasms? Alien-induced male pregnancies? Pretty much par for the course around here.”

“No shit?”

“Oh yeah. I could tell you some stories…” Ianto says as he puts the cuffs back on, fastening them in front this time. When he’s done, he looks right at Jackson, a bemused smile on his face. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Huh.” Jackson thinks Ianto’s joking. But he’s not sure. 

They’re at the entrance to the main room, and Jackson can smell that the food has arrived. Suddenly he is very, very hungry. 

As he follows Ianto out into the main chamber, he hears a loud screech. Something extremely large, too large to be a bird, swoops down towards him. 

Jackson startles, in a way that is uncharacteristically uncool of him, and dives for the floor. Without the full use of his hands, he ends up on his back, flailing like a turtle, unable to do anything but stare up at the ceiling as the massive shape circles and retreats to one of the upper levels. He feels his fangs and claws surface as he pants heavily, trying with limited success to keep his wolf under control. 

“What the hell was that?” he says, once he catches his breath. 

“Myfanwy. She’s a pteranodon.”

“A what?” 

There’s a man standing on the stairway landing, and Jackson peers up at him when he speaks. He’s got dark hair and is wearing a blue shirt and black pants, suspenders, no tie. His cuffs are rolled up and he has his hands in his pockets in an intentionally casual way. He’s extremely handsome, not that Jackson would normally even notice such a thing. 

“Pteranodon. A big flying reptile. Went extinct in the late Cretaceous period. She’s kind of our pet.”

“You keep an extinct dinosaur as a pet?”

Ianto leans down and gives Jackson a hand up. “Technically not a dinosaur. She won’t hurt you. Well, sometimes she bites, but normally she’s quite friendly. Likes dark chocolate.”

“Who are you people?”

“We’re Torchwood,” says the man on the landing, who is now moving down the stairs toward Jackson.

“What the fuck is Torchwood? And who are you?”

“Captain Jack Harkness. Good to meet you.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Jack has his hand out, but of course Jackson’s a bit hampered by the handcuffs. Jack moves closer in order to take Jackson’s hand in his, steadying him with another hand under his elbow. When he does this, Jackson catches a whiff of something delicious. His first thought is that someone’s baking dessert, but then he realizes it’s Jack himself. He has an urge to rub his nose along the other man’s jaw and down his neck, just to get a better smell, but he knows that would be socially unacceptable. 

Jackson begins to ask a question, but before he can form the words, another wave of his heat hits him. They were getting further apart, and less intense, but still regular enough you could count on them coming every so often, and Jackson’s way overdue for one. 

It hits him hard. He can see the alarm in Jack’s face when his eyes flash red, and just like that he’s down on the ground again, growling and whimpering in pain and trying to rub himself off on the floor. 

He hates this. Would be bad enough suffering through this agony on his own, but now he’s got an audience and nowhere to hide, and humiliation is like, his least favorite thing ever. 

The fangs and claws are out, and he’s still in control, just barely, but what he is most aware of at that moment is Ianto’s hand on his back, making soothing circles. It gives Jackson something to focus on besides his burning skin and the ache in his privates. Ianto’s saying something, but he can’t hear the words, just the tone of his voice. He senses the doctor approaching, but Ianto holds out a hand to keep him back. 

“I don’t want you that close to him when he’s like this, Ianto,” says Jack. “It’s dangerous.”

“It looks to me like he’s holding on. Just give him a moment. Honestly, Jack, I think it’s you who needs to back off.”

“Me?” 

Jack squats down so he’s on Ianto’s level, and lowers his voice for only Ianto’s ears. But of course, Jackson can hear. “You know he can’t hurt me.”

“That’s not what I mean, Jack.” Ianto tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t need to spell it out. 

Jack backs off, but not before turning to Owen, who’s standing by, tranquilizer at the ready. “Stay close.”

It’s intense, but blessedly short. Ten minutes, fifteen tops, and Jackson’s back on his feet, shaken but thinking more about dinner than his dick. 

# # #

“You’re American?” Jackson asks, in between bites of  _ Rigatoni al Pesto _ . Jack has a typically midwestern American accent. 

“Not really. It’s complicated,” says Jack, with a wave of his hand.

“Bread stick?” says Ianto, and Jackson gets the feeling the interruption is Ianto’s way of trying to change the subject.

They are eating in a conference room upstairs, with a view of the entire central room below. There’s extra-large take-out containers on the table, and when he first walked in, someone took off his handcuffs, gave him a plate, and encouraged him to take whatever he wanted. He proceeded to demolish nearly half a pan of lasagna single-handedly. He didn’t even mind that it had veggies in it. 

Everyone’s eating and making casual conversation. He thinks they are looking at him, watching his every move, studying him. But the real interrogation doesn’t begin until everyone’s finished and he’s leisurely working his way through a Tiramisu. 

Most of the questions, surprisingly, have nothing at all to do with his being an omega in heat. They seem to have no problem accepting the existence of werewolves, and are surprisingly ok with sitting across the table from a supernatural creature like it’s no big deal. He can hear how calm their heartbeats are. There’s a wariness there, and occasionally something he says excites them, but no fear. He does notice that the door to the room is shut, and he’s seated as far as possible from both it and the window.

They also have an extraordinary amount of knowledge about him personally. They’ve done their research, and it freaks him out. 

It’s mostly Gwen – the leather jacket chick from the basement – who asks the questions. She uses a gentle, kind voice with him, but doesn’t let Jackson avoid tough questions or change the subject. Occasionally Owen or one of the others will ask for clarification. 

They start with general questions. Does he know what a Kanima is? He has Kanima virus in his blood – does he know how or why? 

He tells them, without going into detail about how screwed up he is emotionally, what happened to him last Spring. How he was bitten by an Alpha werewolf. How it went wrong somehow and he changed into a Kanima instead of a werewolf. He doesn’t go into detail about how many people he killed while being controlled by a master, first Matt, then Gerard. He doesn’t tell them how his adopted-child rejection complex fucked him up, how he chose power over pack and wound up with neither. Doesn’t tell him about his complicated relationship with Derek, his Alpha. 

None of their business, really. After all, they don’t care about him. They just want to know why they were expecting a Kanima and got a Werewolf. 

And then the hardball question which stuns him.

“What happened on April 8?”

“Excuse me?”

“Something happened on the 8th of April this year. Do you recall that day?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“What can you tell us about it?”

“That was the day of the big Lacrosse game. The championship match. We won. I don’t really remember anything after that.”

“Bollocks,” says Ianto. 

“What?”

“You’re lying.”

Everyone seems a little taken aback by Ianto’s declaration, even Jackson. Then Toshiko starts, her voice sympathetic. 

“Look, Jackson, we know this is probably difficult for you to talk about. A lot of very overwhelming things have happened to you, not just over the last few days, but for months, from the sound of things. We want to be sensitive to that. And right now, you probably could do with a good night’s rest. But in order for us to deal with this situation appropriately, we do need some answers from you right away. There are –,” she glances up at Jack and the others briefly, “- other considerations you’re not aware of. Other parties besides Torchwood are interested in you.”

Jackson swallows. “Why? I mean, I’m nobody special. You’ve run the medical tests. It’s should be obvious from my blood I used to be a Kanima but now I’m a werewolf, so that’s why the virus is still in me. I don’t have a pack, so I went into heat. I don’t see how the rest of this is relevant.”

It’s Jack who speaks next, his voice becoming more and more intense.

“These aren’t normal viruses you’ve been infected with, Jackson. They’re alien viruses.”

“I thought all viruses were alien. I mean, that’s the theory, right? That they came from outer space?”

“Maybe. Regular viruses have been around as long as humans have lived on this planet, probably longer. Landed here on asteroids or something,” he says, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. 

“No, what I’m talking about is something different. Somewhere, out there,” he gestures up at the ceiling with his eyes, “there’s a whole planet of shape shifters. And sometime within the last 500 years, they sent a virus, a self-replicating copy of their genetic material, to Earth, on purpose, to infect humans. Kind of a cosmic biological warfare. Or colonization, to view it another way. And, because of humanity’s rather unique biology, the virus mutated over the centuries into several different strains, as viruses do.

“So when I say alien, I mean  _ alien _ .”

“Oh,” Says Jackson, a little shocked from the sheer intensity of Jack. 

“So… there are aliens?”

“Yes.”

“And… I’m an alien?”

“No. You’re a human infected with an alien virus.”

“That’s really the point of this discussion,” Ianto chimes in, “To determine what, exactly, you are. So we know for sure and can proceed properly.” 

“And how do you all fit into this?”

“We’re Torchwood.”

“What’s Torchwood?”

“This is Torchwood. All around you.”

Jackson just shrugs his shoulders, a questioning look on his face.

“We’re alien hunters,” says Jack.

“Oh.”

“So… now that we’re all on the same page, if we could get back to April 8th,” says Gwen.

“Yeah. Ok.” Jackson makes one of those fluffing noises with his mouth and runs his hands through his short hair. “So what exactly do you want to know?”

Toshiko starts. “The county coroner’s office believes, or did at some point in time, that you passed away at approximately 1700 hours on that date.”

“How on earth could you know that?” Jackson sputters.

“Is it true?”

“Technically. I guess. But…”

“U.S. municipalities have woefully inadequate cyber security,” says Ianto. 

Jackson takes a deep breath. 

“Yes. I died that night. Twice, actually. The first time I…. ” He shakes his head. “Like I said, that night was the championship game. I was on the field. And right after the game, all the lights went out.

“This guy Gerard - he had power over me. Even though I never remembered what I did when I shifted, I could hear the threats he had been making. I knew I was being manipulated and I hated feeling like I had no choice, no control over myself, or what I did. Gerard was using me as a weapon to get Scott to give up Derek.”

“Who’s Gerard.”

“He’s, um, he was the head of a local family of Hunters. They say they’re trying to protect humans. But really they just hate wolves. And he wanted to get revenge on Derek.”

“And Derek is?”

“My Alpha. Was.”

“And Scott?”

“Another guy on the team. Also a werewolf.”

“Go on.”

“Basically, after the game was over, he was forcing me to shift into the Kanima. Somebody was supposed to die – I wasn’t exactly sure who. Then it occurred to me that if I killed myself, that would stop Gerard from using me to kill other people. All my friends were there at that game.”

He couldn’t protect everybody. But Jackson knew there was only one way out for him, to save innocent people. Ultimately, it had been about protecting Derek, hadn’t it?

“How did you do it?”

“I just, I stuck my fingers right up in my abdomen like this, “ he demonstrates, “curled around them. And then when I transformed, the claws came out, cut me all up on the inside.”

Gwen shivered and even Ianto looked a little green around the edges.

“But I think that’s what he wanted me to do. Maybe he even made me do it. They say there was this cocoon thing that formed around my body after I died. The Kanima, I mean, like it was undergoing some kind of metamorphosis. It was evolving to the next stage or something. I was taken to the hospital morgue in an ambulance. I don’t remember any of that, though.

“Then later, there was this big fight and Derek and Peter stabbed me. They knew I was a danger to the pack, but… that ended up saving my life. It’s like, only the Kanima part of me died, but the Werewolf part was activated, so I healed but didn’t stay dead. It’s all a little fuzzy. Most of this, we just pieced together afterwards.”

“Who?”

“Me and Derek.”

“Your Alpha? The one who stabbed you?”

“Yeah.” It sounded crazy when they said it like that, but it made perfect sense to him.

“Because after that, I was just werewolf. Like I should have been in the first place. And Derek, he trained me. Showed me all the werewolf stuff an Alpha is supposed to teach their Betas.”

There were a few more questions for clarification, but then Jack cut off the questioning. 

“I think that’s enough for one day,” says Jack. “Team meeting first thing tomorrow morning. I want you all here at 8 am sharp with recommendations. Tosh, bring breakfast. Ianto, would you show our guest to his quarters?” 

Jackson expects Ianto to take him back down to the cell, but instead he leads him to a small room off one of the corridors. It’s not fancy; there’s a smallish mattress on a frame, a dresser, and a side table. None of the furniture matches. A door leads to a toilet and a sink. No bath or shower. The sheets and duvet look, if not new, at least clean. 

Ianto sits down on the end of the bed after taking something out of his pocket.

“Let me see your arm, please.”

Jackson holds his left hand out, and Ianto fastens a metal band around his wrist. It looks like a watch but without a watch face. 

“This contains a biometric monitor and a GPS tracker. If you have some sort of emergency, push this button here,” he shows him, “and this one at the same time. It will sound a silent alarm. Don’t hesitate to use it if you really need it, but don’t be waking me up every time you want a drink of water, either. I’ll be spending the night here and monitoring you. 

“The door doesn’t lock, but there are motion-detecting cameras everywhere. Same thing. If you step foot out of the room, the alarm will wake me up and we’ll have to come find you to make sure you aren’t going to go werewolf and kill us all in our sleep. Be a good boy and stay here till I come get you in the morning.”

“Ok,” was about all Jackson could manage after all that.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow I’ll try to find some more clothes for you and take you for another shower, if you like.” And Ianto leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

There are a few books on the lower shelf of the nightstand, but Jackson’s too exhausted to read. He considers sleeping in his clothes, but since it seems warm enough in the room and he’s not sure what Ianto may or may not scrounge up for him tomorrow, he strips down to his boxers and huddles under the covers.

He sleeps, and for once, doesn’t dream.

# # # 

Ianto slips into bed next to Jack. He’s tired, but his mind is going in twelve different directions, and he’s not sure he will be able to sleep anytime soon.

“You got our guest all settled?”

“Yup. I still think it’s a little premature to move him out of the cells.” Ianto double-checks the alarm settings on his phone, which he keeps right next to the bed. 

“It’ll be fine. Besides, it’s just us here now, and we’re hidden, everything is locked down out there. So even if he did manage to leave his room undetected, there’s not much damage he could do.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Earlier…” Jack hesitates, “you didn’t want me to get close to him.”

Ianto stares at the ceiling. “Werewolves have an acute sense of smell, and on top of that have a lot in common with animals. Instinct, and so forth. I expect he would be overly sensitive to your pheromones.”

“Good point.”

“And I’m pretty sure you triggered that last heat cycle.”

“I did that?”

“He could be dangerous if he loses control unexpectedly like that. Not to you, of course, but to the rest of us.” 

“So you think I should keep my distance?”

“At least until his heat is completely over.”

“Too bad. He’s kind of cute.”

“He’s stunningly good looking, actually. But also way too young for you.”

“At my age, everyone’s too young for me, Ianto.” 

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Very old. But who cares? Age is just a sociological construct,” he says, with a wave of his hand. “It only matters that Jackson’s legal.”

“Barely.”

“Anyhow…” Jack turns towards Ianto and places soft little kisses on the side of his neck. Ianto hadn’t been in the mood, really, to have sex, but Jack knows just how to touch him to change that. Tonight his arousal comes on like a struck match, and it’s only minutes before he is begging for it, much to his mortification.

But afterwards, in the dark, Ianto is still processing his day to the soundtrack of Jack’s snoring. It doesn’t take a whole lot of introspection or self-analysis to identify jealousy as his predominant emotion. Ianto knows that he’s fairly young, handsome, and looks good in a suit. 

Jack cares for him. He believes that. But he’s always suspected they are involved merely because Ianto happens to be the most convenient warm body among Jack’s current sphere of acquaintances. 

And then along comes Jackson. Younger, slimmer, beautiful in a way that is breathtaking. More confident, not so much baggage. Jackson’s like a shiny new toy, showing up to distract Jack just when he and Ianto were finally settling into a relationship. 

He can’t wait to sort the situation with UNIT and send Jackson on his way. 


	8. Chapter 8

Jackson wakes up in a sweat. It’s like the feeling you get when you wake up from a nightmare you can’t quite remember, heart racing and disoriented. It’s another heat cycle, though, and after throwing off the covers and flipping over his pillow, he curls up in bed. 

Before long, the door opens. Ianto is there, soothing him with gentle circles on his back and soft words. The human side of him appreciates the kindness. The omega wolf in him can’t understand why Ianto doesn’t just fuck him. Because it seems like that would help. 

Soon, Jackson’s cycle passes and he falls back into a deep sleep. He doesn’t wake up again until Ianto comes to his room in the morning with coffee and a bag of pastries.

“There’s a sausage and egg muffin in there as well. Thought you could use some protein. And a banana -- bananas are good. I didn’t know how you liked your coffee, so I ordered it black,” he says, dropping a handful of sugar and creamer packets on the side table. 

Ianto explains that the 8 am meeting is staff only. “So wait here, and someone will come get you.”

“When?”

“Hopefully not more than an hour or two.”

“But what…” Jackson blows out an exasperated breath. “I mean, because this meeting’s about me?”

“Er…” 

“You all are having a meeting to discuss me, without my being there? That doesn’t sound good.”

Ianto shrugs. “Not just about you. There are other factors to consider.” 

“Factors? Like what factors? You all keep saying that but you never explain what they are.”

“Like I said. After some sort of decision has been reached, we’ll be sure to let you know.”

Ianto’s lying. Fuck. The increase in his heart rate is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Jackson can hear it. 

“Everything?”

“We deal with some classified information. Some things, you don’t need to know. Or want to know.”

That, at least, is the truth.

“Like there are aliens?”

“Like that.” 

“So. Earlier I asked if I was under arrest, and Owen said you could keep me here indefinitely. True?”

“Technically we could, but…” Ianto sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “That’s… that’s not how we normally deal with things. With people. Like you.”

“Like me? But you’ve never dealt with anyone like me, have you? So…what?”

Ianto’s caught. He can’t tell Jackson the whole truth, and he apparently can’t lie, either, so he just leaves. 

“Just… stay put until I come get you.”

# # #

Torchwood is under a lot of pressure from UNIT to give Jackson up. It goes something like this: UNIT wants Torchwood to turn over the Kanima, which they know Torchwood is keeping in the Hub. UNIT’s position is that the Kanima (i.e. Jackson) is number one, alien; number two, of U.S. origin and therefore not within Torchwood’s jurisdiction but international; and three, has certain military, as opposed to scientific value. 

Torchwood, on the other hand, considers Jackson to be human. To turn him over to UNIT would be a violation of Jackson’s human rights. Plus, Torchwood doesn’t want UNIT to know that Jackson is a werewolf shapeshifter, because that would reveal that Torchwood knows that the satellite isn’t tracking werewolves. 

Torchwood isn’t sure that UNIT knows about werewolves and isn’t eager to give them more information. Because, when it comes right down to it, Jack doesn’t fully trust UNIT, even though they often work together. 

Actually, it wasn't an easy decision to arrive at. The team, despite some moral equivocating, comes to the conclusion that turning Jackson over to UNIT would be wrong, both ethically and strategically. But they did not reach this conclusion before exploring nearly every fathomable option. Toshiko, having once been imprisoned by UNIT, was most vocal.

They don’t want to make an enemy of UNIT, though. 

In the end, Jack decides that Torchwood is going to stall as long as possible to avoid conflict. UNIT has more firepower, but no authority over Torchwood. Only a direct order from the Queen would cause them to give Jackson up. But in direct confrontation between the two, UNIT would win. 

There are a number of very delicate, carefully worded conversations with UNIT, and it seems that they and Torchwood are at an impasse. 

They agree it’s too risky to let Jackson leave the hub right now, even once his heat ends, because UNIT seems so interested in him. Interested enough to try to nab him if he was ever out. UNIT won’t be able to take Jackson as long as he stays in the hub. And on the technological front, they can try to find a way to block UNIT’s tracking ability.

At some point they will come up with a long-term plan for Jackson. If UNIT loses interest, or they are able to foil them permanently, they could send Jackson back to London, even the U.S. But he knows too much, and that is a problem. The consensus is that Retcon probably won’t work on a werewolf. No easy answers there, either.

Not until late in the morning is Jackson brought upstairs. Jack explains who UNIT is and why they want him. And tries to tell him who Torchwood is. 

“We’re similar to UNIT, but without the military focus. But while they were created by the United Nations, the Torchwood Institute was created by Queen Victoria. We answer to no one but the queen. Our authority is beyond that of the military, the government, or the United Nations.”

Jackson is a bit stunned at being the focus of so much attention from two secret quasi-governmental agencies. Now that Jack has made a decision, they can assure him they will protect him, no matter what. Handing him over to UNIT or tossing him out on his own had not previously been off the table, as options. But no need to explain that to Jackson. 

He has questions, of course. 

“What about my dad?” he says. “He’s on a business trip, but he’ll be home in a couple weeks. Mom usually checks in by phone, but I left my cell back at the apartment. How am I going to explain this? I went to Wales with friends, and decided not to come back? What about my classes?”

It seems they’ve come up with a cover story. Ianto’s going to Jackson’s flat in London to pack his bag, and leave a paper trail for when Jackson’s dad gets back from his trip. 

“Congratulations, Jackson! You’ve been accepted into that study abroad program in Prague. You applied late and it was full already so you were put on the waiting list. There was a last-minute cancellation, so you’re in. Since you didn’t think you’d actually be able to go, you never mentioned it to your dad.” 

He stares at Ianto, baffled. 

“It’s all handled. We thought about a study programme here in Wales, but what if your dad wanted to pop over for a visit? Better to have you out of the country. If he tries to visit you in Prague, his visa will be denied.” 

Tosh pulls up document scans on her monitor. “All the documentation is here –- acceptance letter on official letterhead, visa application, airline itinerary, immunization record. Your passport was scanned at Heathrow two days ago, before you boarded the plane. It will all pass inspection as long as no one checks and finds you didn’t actually arrive at your destination.”

Then Jack pipes up. “It’s a one-semester program that can be extended to two if necessary. Hopefully, all this won’t take that long.”

“You… you can do all that? Falsify records? Isn’t that illegal?”

“It’s what we do. We’re not helping you commit a crime or escape the police or anything. We’re just making it look as if you're someplace you’re not. We’ll even get you some souvenirs to bring home, and photoshop some Finstagram pics.”

He’ll have to stay inside the hub, though, they explain. For as long as it takes until they can guarantee his safety outside. 

There’s only one foreseeable problem, which no one has thought to mention. Assuming Jackson’s still here in another few months, he’ll go into heat again. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson is bored. Jack entertains him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter this week, because they are short and it's a three-day weekend. Enjoy!

Jackson’s bored. He’s nearly caught up on his sleep, and there’s only so much “looking-but-not-touching” he can do in the hub. Ianto’s already scolded him twice for sniffing the sub-etheric resonator. He’s not really able to focus on books or tv right now – his brain’s still a little foggy, although he feels so much better than before.

Because of that, and the fact that he becomes aroused so easily – a brush of fabric, a stray thought – he knows that his heat’s not completely over. It’s fading, though, each successive cycle occurring further and further apart, less intense, and he can actually imagine feeling normal again. Or at least, whatever passes as normal when you’re a werewolf. 

It’s clear that the people who work at Torchwood spend a lot of time here. There’s lockers and showers and a regular diet of takeout. Empty boxes from Jubilee Pizza cover the coffee table. The Captain seems to live here, and he’s pretty sure the Suit (which is how he still thinks of him, though he knows Ianto’s name now) spends the night on a regular basis. 

But it’s the weekend, and almost everyone has left, leaving him without much to do.

At least he has the freedom to walk around. No cell, no handcuffs, just the monitoring bracelet. And a whole lot of cameras.

So it’s Friday night, and he finds himself walking up the stairs towards the Captain’s office. The light is on, the door open. There’s a lovely, musky fragrance in this room that draws him in. He can smell it everywhere in the Hub, but it’s stronger here. He’s never known a human to give off scent that way. 

“Captain?” 

Jack looks up from his desk where he’s filling out papers with a fountain pen. 

“Call me Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Jackson. How can I help you?” 

Jackson just shrugs. “I’m not really sure what to do with myself.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something, a wide smirk on his face, but doesn’t, as if he’s thought better of it. Instead, he takes a breath before replying, “Give me just a few minutes to finish up?”

“Sure.”

Jackson wanders around the office, looking at the few items lying about. Again, it’s the same strange mix of antique and ultra-modern, but the décor in this office seems especially personal. He admires the view from the window, standing in front of it with his hands in the pockets of his track pants and wishing he had different clothing. He looks back at the Captain, who is more formally dressed; no tie, but a light blue vintage uniform-style shirt and dark dress pants. Belt and shoes.

Ok, he’s grateful for whoever loaned him clothes, because it’s better than being naked. But he hates the grubby sweats and rough cotton shirts, and he doubts they’re going to let him out to shop anytime soon. He’s not sure what kinds of stores they have in Cardiff anyway, but hopefully something better than Macy’s. He could do some online shopping, if they give him his credit cards. 

He returns his attention to the window. He can see almost everything from this vantage point. He cranes his head up to look at the dinosaur nest at the very top, and wonders what it would be like to climb the ladder up there. He looks down to the ground floor, tries to count how many tunnels and passageways lead out from the main room. 

He takes a stroll around Jack’s office, stopping to look at some pictures on the wall. Most are sepia-toned photos, easily a hundred years old, but one of the men looks strikingly like the Captain. Speaking of Jack, he seems to have finished his paperwork. He puts down his pen, scoots his chair back, and comes to stand next to Jackson in front of the photo.

“That’s a photo of my great- “ 

He doesn’t get any further with his sentence when the scent of Jack’s pheromones hits the olfactory portion of Jackson’s brain like an anvil. It’s that compelling scent he’s noticed before, plus an undertone of something else he can detect now that he’s so close to Jack, and it goes right to the instinctual, still-in-heat, werewolf side of him. 

In a flash, he is on Jack. Has him pressed up against the wall, one leg slotted in between his thighs. He’s practically humping Jack’s leg. Jackson’s mouth is on the man’s neck, and he’s inhaling and rubbing his jaw against it. His fingertips are tingling, and the gums ache as his canines start to push through. 

Jack pushes his shoulders away gently. “Whoa, there. Take it easy.”

Jackson pulls back, but just his upper body; his hips are still flush against Jack’s. “I’m sorry. You smell… I just can’t even.”

“It’s my aftershave.”

“Really?” Jackson frowns.

“No, I never wear any.”

“You smell like that naturally?

“Fifty-first century pheromones. You people have no idea!” 

“Whatever. It seems to be working for you, though.” 

Jack chuckles. “I do have that effect on people.”

“Plus, I’m a little low on self-control right now, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t give it a second though.”

And then Jack’s lips are against his, his tongue probing for entrance. Jack’s got one hand on Jackson’s neck and another cradling the side of his head. Jackson wraps his arms around Jack’s broad shoulders.

And for what feels like an eternity, there is nothing in the whole fucking universe but the feel of Jack’s mouth on his. 

At a certain point even werewolves have to breathe, and during that pause Jackson is startled by the sound of a throat clearing. It’s Ianto in the doorway. Jack turns his head toward the sound without pulling away from him, but Jackson only gives a quick glance at the door and doesn’t really make eye contact. 

“Ianto.”

“Pardon me. Just wanted to let you know there’s Chinese take-away in the kitchen. And I’m leaving just as soon as I get everything locked down.”

“Thank you. You coming back?” Then his voice drops lower, in a way that is not lost on Jackson. “You could come back later.”

There’s a lot of nonverbal communication going on here, two sets of eyebrows telegraphing a message between two people who obviously know each other very well. 

“Don’t think so. I’ve got a few things to take care of back at my flat before I head to London tomorrow. Have to descale my tea kettle. See you Monday morning.”

“Right. Monday, then.”

Ianto leaves and Jack turns his attention back to Jackson, leans their foreheads together, but Jackson doesn’t raise his head. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you two were together.”

“We’re not. Not like that. I mean, we do have the occasional shag.”

“Oh?” says Jackson, “that’s not the impression I got.” 

Because, although Ianto appeared perfectly calm on the outside, Jackson could hear his heartbeat, skipping and racing from the doorway. He could practically smell the jealousy rolling off the man. 

“We’re not exclusive, if that’s what you mean.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to interfere.”

“Not at all. We’re not serious, Ianto and me. We…dabble.”

Jackson still isn’t convinced, because what Jack is saying and how he and Ianto act are polar opposites, but it’s not his circus, so he lets Jack push him back into the corner of the room, out of the view of the door (and of the security cameras, though Jackson wouldn’t know that). 

Jack sticks his thumbs under the waistband of Jackson’s track pants and shimmies them down to the floor, which puts him right there, head-to-head with Jackson’s achingly stiff and leaking cock. And oh my god, yes this is really going to happen. 

It’s not Jackson’s first blow job, not by a long shot, but it is the first time a guy’s ever gone down on him. And to be precise, Jack’s not a ‘guy’ -- he’s a man, a much older and obviously more experienced man. He definitely has skills. Lydia’s mouth was soft and sweet and warm, but there’s just no comparison between that and the insane swirly things Jack is doing right now with his tongue and powerful lips. 

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Jackson has passed the point of no return, and he throws his head back and howls. Yes, it’s a real howl, and he keeps his hands at his sides, scrabbling back against the brick of the wall, not touching Jack’s head or shoulders, because there are claws, too, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

And Jack seems not terribly alarmed to have the guy he’s sucking off transform into a half-werewolf when he comes. 

Afterwards, when Jackson has (mostly) gotten himself under control again, and Jack has produced a handkerchief from his pocket for just a tad bit of mopping up (because Jack swallows, in case you were wondering), it occurs to Jackson that he ought to return the favor. 

“I…um. I could… I mean, do you want me to…?

And maybe Jack can sense, at least a little, that Jackson is, well, completely terrified at the thought of touching another man, and what that might  _ mean _ , because he doesn’t take him up on the offer right away. He just rubs his thumb along Jackson’s jawline, then slowly slides his hand down his neck to his shoulder, over his chest, down the flat of his abdomen, then goes lower, before at last he responds.

“Oh, Jackson. There are so very, very many things I want to do with you. No rush though, eh?” he says with a flirtatious wink, as he cups Jackson’s junk with his hand. “We’ve got all weekend, so it seems, if the Rift stays calm. Here,” he says, leading Jackson over to the leather couch across from his desk. “We can have a chat. Maybe some tea.”

It takes a while before any actual talking occurs, because a minute later they are making out on the couch like teenagers. Jackson is instantly hard and aching, and if you think that the refractory period for a normal teenage werewolf is short, let me tell you, it’s eons compared to that of an omega in heat.

“You’re a good kisser. For a werewolf.” 

“You’ve kissed a lot of werewolves?”

“Well, let’s just say you’re not my first.”

“Oh. Um, well I’ve never made out with a guy before.”

“Never?”

“Nope. I’ve had a few girlfriends. I’m not actually gay, though.”

“You would not believe the number of men I’ve been with who say the exact same thing.”

“Really?”

“Really. This century has some kind of a need to put everyone into quaint little categories. It’s annoying. I’m not into labels. There’s only one box I’d be willing to be put in and… well. That’s not an option right now.” 

He has kind of a wistful look in his eyes when he says this, though Jackson doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. 

“But here you are,” Jack continues. “Straight as an arrow – until you met me, I suppose?”

“Well, until I went into heat, at least. I started having these dreams right before my heat came on. They were,” his jaw clenches, “extremely vivid. Then the thoughts came even when I was awake. All day long, I couldn’t think of much else besides…” Jackson swallows, unable to get the words out. 

Jackson recalls all the time he’s spent recently thinking about Derek. Derek, or sometimes Scott or Peter, but most often Derek, pinning him to the ground, laying on top of him and biting him right where his shoulder meets his neck. Derek taking him, claiming him, and – dear lord – Derek fucking him. 

Jackson makes a little whining noise, and Jack nuzzles him behind his ear in response. 

The dying ember of Jackson’s heat bursts into flames. 

# # # 

Jackson’s still wearing that damn monitoring bracelet. Every time his heart rate increases past a certain threshold, it sets off an alarm which pings Ianto’s mobile phone. 

When his phone buzzes for the fifth time in as many minutes, Ianto shuts it off. 


	10. Chapter 10

The heel of Jackson’s right foot is slung over the back of the couch in Jack’s office as Jack twists a finger inside Jackson. His hands grip the arm rest behind his head, and his extended claws have already punched through the leather upholstery. He only hopes it’s far enough around the bottom curve of the arm rest so as not to be immediately noticeable. 

Then again, that’s what Jack gets for fucking a werewolf on his leather couch. Got to expect some damage. 

“Damn you’re wet,” says Jack. “Don’t even really need lube. And what the hell is this stuff, anyway? It’s so slick. Don’t usually see that in human males.”

“Thought you’d been with werewolves before?”

“Yeah, but not one in heat. Hadn’t even heard of such a thing until a few days ago. Besides,” he says, angling his fingers and pushing them in further until Jackson whines and bucks his hips, “I prefer to let the werewolf top.”

Jackson can barely grunt in response when Jack starts working a third finger into Jackson’s hole. “Sex with a werewolf can be quite… intense.” Jack pauses as if lost in thought, and Jackson takes the opportunity to catch his breath and tries to get a grip. 

“Dangerous?” Jackson manages to get out.

Jack shakes his head. “Not really. Not for me, at least. It does have a bit of an edge, though.” 

“You think?”

“Oh yeah.” He grins.

Jack starts out slowly, as any considerate lover would do when contemplating a virgin piece of ass. He’s prepared to spend quite some time lubing up and stretching out Jackson’s tight opening. 

It doesn’t quite work out that way. It takes all of about a minute before Jackson’s begging for it. Right now. 

Jack withdraws his fingers as Jackson whimpers, and slides his hands under Jackson’s hips, angling them up and scooting forward so his knees frame them. Jack arranges one foot up on the hollow of his shoulder, and then directs his rather magnificent cock at the rim of Jackson’s entrance. The hole is weeping with omega juices, and so is Jackson, crying and pleading in the delicious aching pain of his heat. 

“Oh god. Please please please…”

“I’m not a god. Not on this planet, at least. But I can give you what you need, if this is really what you want.” 

Jack gets no answer to the implied question except for Jackson’s moaning as he pushes up towards Jack. 

“Take a deep breath,” Jack says, and then he leans in, stretching, filling Jackson up. 

Jackson screams and throws his head back, baring his throat to Jack, but Jack doesn’t seem to respond to that, which confuses Jackson’s wolf. Instead, he’s rather skillfully working his cock in and out, deeper and deeper into Jackson’s passage. 

Jack is solid and strong and so very male, and he approaches sex in a methodical manner, which grounds Jackson who’s lost in his heat.

Jackson tilts his hips up towards Jack. More is what he needs. Deeper.

Jack pushes in all the way, as deep as he can go, and then begins long, strong strokes. Jackson quakes with ecstasy at the delicious friction. 

Eventually, Jack pulls out and tugs on Jackson’s hips, guiding him to turn around. On his knees, ass in the air and upper body draped over the arm of the sofa, Jack thrusts hard and deep, nailing Jackson’s sweet spot over and over. 

Jackson shudders as he comes. It’s the first pleasurable orgasm he’s had in nearly a week of near-constant arousal. The sense of relief is great. A couple of tears sneak out of the corners of his eyes, washing away the ugly tension he’s been holding back for days on end. 

It’s wonderful, amazing, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

# # #

It’s a quiet weekend, as predicted, so all night and most of the next day, Jack and Jackson are at it. They fuck again on Jack’s couch pretty much right away; once on the couch downstairs; a long, lingering couple hours in Jackson’s bed; and once with Jackson bent over the exam table in the morgue. That was disturbing and possible the kinkiest thing Jackson’s ever done, but it was a nice “fuck you” to Owen and his lousy bedside manner. They don’t bother to clean up. 

Jack’s endurance, while not as good as Jackson’s, is nearly super-human. Jackson comes hard every time, but he’s never fully satisfied. He still craves more.

And then, just like that, it’s over. 

Jack approaches him a couple times on Sunday, but Jackson’s not interested. He brushes him off and probably comes across as a little rude, but Jack doesn’t seem to take it personally. 

Ianto’s back on Monday; and if Jackson’s weekend tryst with Jack has caused any complications in their relationship, they never let it show.


	11. Chapter 11

_Three months later._

Jackson’s second Omega heat is fast approaching. When it became apparent that Jackson would still be at Torchwood then, he brings up the issue and it is discussed at great length. 

Owen’s plan is to investigate drugs to suppress Jackson’s heat or at least minimize the discomfort, but he never finds anything that works safely and effectively. Jack suggests sex toys and Ianto got right on the shopping. Jackson is embarrassed by the whole thing and just doesn’t want to talk about it. 

In the end they agree (Jackson included) that he should ride out his heat in one of the cells like last time, for everyone’s safety. Jackson’s dreading the ordeal, though he’s a little hopeful that it will be easier this time around. Well before the full moon, Ianto hauls down a mattress, pillow, and some blankets for Jackson, and stocks the cell with water and protein bars. 

It seems odd to Ianto that he, the person who probably dislikes Jackson the most, should be the most concerned with Jackson’s comfort and well-being. Jackson’s predicament has activated that protective, caretaking instinct in Ianto that has only been this strong before with Lisa and Jack. He feels just about the opposite of love for Jackson – can’t stand the arrogant prick and resents the hell out of him for having become Jack’s latest fucktoy. But still… 

It’s almost as if Ianto can feel Jackson’s fear growing worse as the days get closer. Outside, Jackson projects confidence in a way that Ianto (and probably everyone else) finds annoying. But inside, Ianto knows he’s terrified. 

And Ianto realizes just how humiliating this ordeal is for Jackson, writhing around, moaning and practically begging somebody to fuck him. Not in actual words, but the meaning of his body language is obvious. 

He can’t hear Jackson now, from his station in front of the monitor, all the way upstairs, but he remembers the noises Jackson made last time. They are impressed in his memory in a way that he will not soon forget. 

Ianto knows what it feels like to be that guy. The one with the emotional problems. The one everyone feels sorry for. 

Ianto brings Jackson hot meals once he moves into the cells, and will continue to do so as long as it seems safe to open the cell door. No one else goes downstairs, ostensibly for Jackson’s privacy, though he must know they’re watching the CCTV feed. Hell, even Archie in Scotland is live streaming this event. 

It’s a day before the full moon, and the rest of them have gone home for the evening, except for Ianto, who’s been left to monitor Jackson and the rift, and Jack who’s down in his hidey-hole. Everyone assumes the real action won’t start until tomorrow, so they’ll get sleep while they can. Jackson’s not even half-wolfed-out yet; he’s restless and pacing, and completely coherent in between the mild surges. 

Ianto’s been feeling strange lately. He tells himself that he’s got a sinus infection, and that’s why his ears are super sensitive and everything tastes and smells odd. Sharper, but strange. He tells himself it can’t possibly be that scratch he got when the Alpha wolves were chasing Jackson. And once the blood had been cleaned off and the wound healed up, the scratch left a shiny, iridescent crescent-shaped scar. But he’s sure it’s nothing. 

He tells himself he’s just ill, but he lies to himself, and lies some more, until the evidence is so overwhelming he can’t deny it any longer. 

If the scratch turned him into a werewolf, then he’s going into an Omega heat just like Jackson. Right? And the only logical course of action is for him to lock himself into a cell downstairs, too.

He really ought to call somebody; ought to get Jack and call Owen, or even Tosh or Gwen, and ask them to come in. But his denial and indecision have brought him to the point where there’s no time left. He feels pressure at the end of his fingertips, a tightness all over his skin, and this strange growly feeling in his belly. And really, the thought of them seeing him weak like that bothers him. He never wants to be that Ianto again. He’s strong and in control, always. He won’t put anyone else at risk. But he’s going to keep it together until he can calmly and quickly get downstairs and shut himself in a cell. 

He almost manages it, but down the final set of stairs he breaks into a run. Ianto bursts through the outer door and into a cell, slams the cell door behind him, and locks it from the inside with shaking hands. He shoves the key out the slot beyond his reach, and then collapses, panting.

Ianto ran so fast he hadn’t taken a breath, but now he is breathing in deep lungfuls of the scent of an Omega in heat. The pheromones hit his blood stream, interact with his body chemistry, cross the blood-brain barrier. And the Omega’s groans, his whining need, go right to his heart, and tug at his need to take control, to dominate, and every single protective urge he has.

The last conscious thought that human-Ianto has before his wolf takes over is the realization that he’s not an Omega in heat. Not at all. 

He’s an Alpha wolf, with only one objective – to claim his Omega.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible Content Warning: As I re-read this chapter, I realized it contains descriptions of characters having sex in a shifted or half-wolf form. Now, in general I dislike bestiality -- I find it squicky and avoid reading it; and didn't intend to write it. So just to be clear, when I imagine the characters in this and similar scenes having sex, they are physically very much more human than werewolf; except for fangs and claws and maybe the strange eyes and some hair. Think of it as a metaphor for the instinctual, inner beast taking over, rather than an actual transformation into an animal form. Later on in the fic, Ianto will transform into an actual wolf, but I assure you there will be no wolf sex.

Ianto won’t remember this later, wouldn’t have believed it if they hadn’t shown him the video footage that he never got the chance to scrub from the server. 

Wolf-Ianto hits the wall between his and Jackson’s cell repeatedly with his fist until it cracks, and then he tears apart the ancient, crumbling concrete with his claws. Later he looks at the hole and sees the bloody streaks from his – fingers? – along the edges of the opening, but the wounds there and on his knuckles have healed long before he’s even aware that he was injured in the first place. 

Once he knocks a large-enough hole in the wall, he’s through it and into Jackson’s cell, and claims Jackson with no hesitation. He does remember that part, remembers slotting his shaft into the Omega’s channel, how he slides right in slick and easy. He remembers how Jackson’s dreadful moans and cries stop once he enters him, and they begin to howl together. He remembers feeling a tremendous sense of relief once they are fully joined. Looking back, he doesn’t know if those were his own emotions he was feeling, or Jackson’s. 

Three or four thrusts and they both are coming, and Ianto buries his fangs in the juncture between Jackson’s neck and shoulder, and bites down until he can taste the blood on his tongue. Ianto’s fluid inside Jackson; Jackson’s blood inside Ianto, that’s what it takes and they are bonded by viruses and biochemicals and hormones and maybe just a bit of magic. 

Ianto remembers all this, dimly, but at the time has no control over it, as if he were passively observing through someone else’s eyes. After he orgasms, though, his sense of self gradually returns. They’re both still a little wolfed out, but Ianto feels connected to his body once again.

He’s exhausted and injured, and he collapses on top of Jackson on the mattress and they both pant and try to catch their breath and process what just happened. 

Finally, when he feels more or less human again, he speaks. 

“Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

“It’s not. You alright?” 

“Yeah. Much better. Like, a thousand times better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Jackson turns his head to look at Ianto over his shoulder. “Right now? I could go another round.” Jackson presses back against Ianto, who is still inside him, and wiggles. “Damn, Ianto, your cock is huge.” 

Ianto frowns and pushes up on his hands. He looks down between the two of them where they are joined. Ianto doesn’t want to pull out yet, because he knows it’s going to be all kinds of messy, and he’s still trying to figure out how to get to the t-shirt lying on the floor on the other side of the cell so as not to get spooge all over the sheets.

“Actually, I believe I’m fairly average size. At least, compared to Jack – he’s quite well endowed, as I believe you know.”

“No, you’re much bigger, trust me. Feels like a monster right now.”

“Maybe my wolf penis is larger?” 

“Huh-uh. You came already, right? Damn, it’s like I can feel you swelling up inside me.”

Now Ianto can feel the swelling, too, and he tries to withdraw, but Jackson grunts in discomfort.

“Bloody hell! I think we’re stuck.”

“Stuck? What do you mean, ‘stuck’?”

“Stuck.”

“Wait, dogs get stuck together sometimes, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do. But we’re not dogs.”

“We’re wolves, though.”

“Not precisely wolves, either.”

“It’s called knotting.” They both whip their heads around towards the voice in the hallway. It’s Jack, and he’s standing there, arms crossed, looking at them with a smirk on his face.

“You’ve been watching us this whole time?”

“We caught the highlights. Quite the show.”

“Oh my god.” That’s from Ianto, whose cheeks have turned red. Specifically, the ones on his face, though Jack has a perfect view of his arse cheeks, as well as the obvious fact that his lover has his cock buried inside another man. Jack doesn’t seem to care. 

“Archie called earlier. He thought it was likely to happen and wanted me to warn you. Apparently, a knot is a swelling at the base of the penis of certain canids. His theory is that in werewolves it’s supposed to promote pack bonding. Plus, the knot holds in the male’s sperm, which increases the chance that a female will conceive.”

“I can’t get pregnant, can I?” Jackson seems panicked at the thought.

“He doesn’t think so. I asked.”

“That’s not particularly reassuring, Jack.”

“Even if you can, pregnancy isn't so bad. I mean, I like to complain, but…”

“I didn’t come across any instances of male pregnancy in my research,” Ianto interjects. “Not in this particular mutation of the virus.”

“Does that mean there have been other...?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.”

“Done.”

“Ianto, you can be a little shit sometimes, you know?”

“That’s your Alpha you’re talking to, Jackson,” says Jack. “Show some respect.”

It hadn’t really occurred to Jackson that Ianto is his Alpha now, but he shoots Jack a look and gives him a little two-fingered salute. A submissive Beta he is not. “So what are we supposed to do now?” he says.

“You’ll just have to hang out and… bond, or something. Talk about your feelings. It’ll be good for you, Jackson. You have unresolved anger issues, you know. Should last about half an hour, hour tops. Next time, Ianto, try to pull out first, eh?” 

# # # 

“I didn’t know you were a werewolf. Obviously.”

“Me neither. Oh God, I’m a werewolf.”

“How? When did you get bit?”

“One of those Alphas in the clearing. It was just a scratch, though -- happened when we were getting you in the SUV and driving off. I thought that if I were infected, I’d feel it right away, but nothing happened for a long time, so I thought I was in the clear.” 

“It’s been three months. It usually just takes days, sometimes only hours.”

“Yeah. I’ve had the odd symptom. It was gradual, nothing I could really pinpoint. Only just tonight I was sure, but of course I assumed I was going into an Omega heat like you. That’s why I locked myself in the cell. Tried to, anyway.” 

“You’re not an Omega though. Not even a Beta. I can tell you’re an Alpha by the way you smell and the way my wolf reacts to you.”

“So how come I’m an Alpha and you’re not?”

Jackson shakes his head. “Not sure. I thought the only way you could be an Alpha was to be born one, or to kill another Alpha and take its pack.”

“I shot one of those wolves. He was about to attack me.”

“Really? Must have been the same one that scratched you.”

“I’m pretty sure if the bullet didn’t kill it, the other wolves did. There was a lot of blood.”

“If you’re an Alpha, he must be dead.”

“So does that mean… we’re a pack now?

“Yeah. That’s what it means. Just me and you. Unless… well, the Alpha you shot might have had a pack. So what happened to them?”

Ianto just shrugs.

“Normally you would have inherited his pack. Remind me to give you Derek’s number later. The two of you can talk about Alpha things.”

“Thanks.”

“You can make more wolves, if you want. You can turn someone by biting them, but it doesn’t always work. Sometimes they die.” 

“Not sure what I’d do with a pack. I mean, don’t know what I’m going to do with just one Beta, much less a whole bunch of you.”

Great. Someone else who didn’t really want Jackson. 

“Three is strongest, though,” Jackson says. 

“Strong against what?” 

“Strong against other packs. Or hunters. Or the supernatural.”

“Like aliens?”

“Well, maybe. I guess.”

“Hm… could be to Torchwood’s advantage then.”

“See.. it’s going to work out fine. It’s good that we’re a pack now.”

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better. I know you didn’t want this.”

Ianto sounds kind of miserable when he says it. Jackson can hear it in his voice, so he gathers his thoughts before he speaks.

“Listen, Ianto. When I was running in the woods, I was terrified. I was so scared that those Alphas were going to catch me. But tonight, when I realized it was you in the cell with me, I didn’t feel that way at all. I wasn’t afraid. I think my wolf wanted to be claimed by you.”

“By me? Why?”

“Not sure, but maybe because I know you. You’ve been… kind to me when you don’t have a reason to be.” 

Ianto doesn’t say anything at first. Jack’s the elephant in the room, obviously. And Ianto’s not about to profess any type of affection for Jackson. 

“I still feel bad. You didn’t consent to this.”

“Dude. Don’t. I’m not upset. It’s not like you have control over your wolf. Especially not now, when you’re new. I ran because I didn’t want to be claimed by some random Alpha, and have no choice over what pack I was part of. Peter said I wouldn’t be able to break a pack bond. Some Alphas abuse their Betas; you never know.

“So maybe it’s for the best. Maybe you’re not my favorite person in the world, but I have to admit you’re a decent guy. And at least it means I won’t go into heat again, right?”

“All evidence points to that being the case.”

Jackson groans. Ianto’s strategizing about how they can get into a more comfortable position. Eventually, he rolls them over on their sides. Jackson grabs the corner of a blanket and drags it up over both of them. 

They don’t talk, but after a few minutes, Jackson grinds back against Ianto, making those pleading little whimpering noises, and pretty soon they’re fucking again.


	13. Chapter 13

Ianto lies next to Jackson on the narrow mattress on the floor of the cell. They’re both flat on their backs, exhausted, and their bodies barely touch. They don’t cuddle. 

Ianto tries to come to grips with the whole ‘becoming a werewolf’ thing, now that he has a minute to think. 

He’s had three months to dwell on the possibility. He’s done more research than anyone on the team, paid special attention to all the details Jackson mentioned, and tried to subtly pump Archie for information. Imagining is quite different from the reality of  _ being _ , though. Now that it’s happened to him, it’s not at all what he expected.

Actually, Ianto doesn’t feel all that different, since he returned to his human form. He just feels -  _ more _ . He notices that his vision, hearing, smell, are all sharper. His body feels stronger. His emotions are more intense, his actions less inhibited. 

The first time he fucks Jackson, it’s pure Alpha werewolf instinct. He has no control over the urge to claim the Omega, and really is only dimly aware of it happening. The second time is an aftershock chasing after that first wave of desire. 

In a way, there is something liberating about giving himself over to the wolf inside. He doesn’t have to overthink everything. No planning, no careful consideration. Not really responsible for his actions. Except for the fact that letting go led to him lying here naked next to Jackson on the floor, a situation he would have preferred to avoid.

Sometime between fucks numbers three and four, he realizes that he has little to no interest in having sex with Jackson,  _ per se _ . He’d much prefer never having to dip his wick in Jackson’s hole again, if it weren’t for the simple fact that Jackson  _ needs  _ him.

Jackson is still in heat, always uncomfortable and sometimes in actual pain, and Ianto’s wolf just wants to make it better. Jackon’s heat scent and the small, needy cries he makes drive him crazy. Fueled by pheromones and instinct, it’s the same drive that caused him to drag a mattress down to the cell for a guy he disliked. He didn’t know it was the pre-transformation Alpha wolf in him needing to care for Jackson.

But the actual fucking? Ianto just wants it to be over. 

Jackson rolls over onto his side, and as he does so, throws one leg over Ianto’s thigh. He’s half asleep, but he’s grinding against Ianto’s hip and making groaning noises. 

“Jackson?”

“Hm?” Jackson says, but it comes out with a little whimper at the end. 

“Jackson.”

Jackson opens one eye and looks at him. “Again? Please?”

“Jackson, I can’t.”

“Huh?”

“Unfortunately, Jackson, I don't think I can give you what you need.”

“What? You’re a werewolf. You’ve got super-human stamina and sex drive, right?”

Ianto sighs. Is there ever a good way to tell someone you don’t want to have sex with them? Especially when you just have – multiple times? 

“For one thing, you’re in heat. I’m not.”

“So?”

“I couldn’t stop myself. Had to claim you, and I did. Now that it’s done, the compulsion is gone too. I don’t know why you’re still in heat, though. You’re not an Omega anymore, right?” 

“I think it’s just going to take a few days for the hormones to clear my system, like last time. Or it’s the full moon. Werewolves are always hornier at the full moon.”

“Yeah. So. I want to take care of you. Can’t stand to see you uncomfortable or in pain.”

“Thanks.”

“However…”

“What?”

“Well for one, I’m knackered. And practically raw.”

“But you heal fast, you know. Healing should only take minutes.”

“Well, it’s taking longer.” He reaches down and gives himself a tug. “Ouch. See?”

Jackson takes a look. “Wow, that’s really red. Sorry.”

“I know you need it, but…”

“Was there a second thing?”

“A second thing?”

“’Cause you said, “for one”? Seems like there should be a “for two”.

“Um… ok. Well then, I’m not actually gay.”

“You’re not ‘actually’ gay? What the hell does that mean? Didn’t we just have sex like three or four times…?”

“Yeah. Fantastic shag.”

“…And besides, I thought you and Jack were sleeping together?”

“Yeah, I know. Look, I don’t have a problem calling myself a bisexual if I have to pick a label. Nothing wrong with that. But I’m not really attracted to men, generally speaking. It’s just… it’s just him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack is… well, there’s no one quite like him on the planet. Maybe in the entire universe. Sometimes, I’m not sure he’s completely human. He’s definitely one of a kind. So, yeah. I’m attracted to him. Practically everyone is. And I like women, but not any other men. Not so far.”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Ianto seems taken aback at the question. “I don’t… I’ve never said...” 

“It’s all right, Ianto. I won’t say anything to him. But you can’t lie to me, you know?”

“I can’t?” 

“Nope. I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Really?” Ianto looks right at him, blinking, a confused look on his face. “How?”

“Werewolf superpower. You literally aren’t able to lie to a werewolf. I can hear your heart beating faster when you lie. It’s like a lie detector. You’ll pick it up. It’s not difficult once you know what to listen for.”

“Fabulous.” Ianto has a bit of an issue with lying. He’s fabricated whole parts of himself. And now Jackson will know. 

“I can sense your emotions, too. Not humans, as much, but definitely other werewolves. Our emotions are stronger.”

“Well, that’s a huge negative in the ‘werewolf’ column.”

“I remember how you felt that time you walked in on me and Jack kissing. Probably should have realized there was something up with you then. Jealousy is a very distinct emotion and humans don’t usually project like that. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Sorry for what? 

“Kissing Jack.” And fucking him.

“I’m sure he mentioned that we have an open relationship.”

“That’s what he said. Not your choice, though, right?”

Ianto doesn’t answer right away.

“I don’t do well with casual. But it’s just his nature. He’s an insatiable flirt. He’ll shag anything that’s sentient if it’s good looking enough. And few things that are questionable. But at night, it’s just me in his bed. So at least I have that.”

“And you’re chill with that? Dude.”

Ianto shrugs. “I’ve always known I have to accept the way he is if I want to be with him. I’ve decided it’s worth it, though.” 

“So what you’re saying is that out of the two guys I’ve slept with, one isn’t attracted to me, and the other is the biggest slut in the universe.”

“Love the way you make everything all about you, Jackson.”

“I’m awesome and you know it.”

Ianto just makes a little huffing noise with his mouth. 

“By the way, I’m not gay either.”

“Bi, then?”

“Don’t think so. Never been with a guy.”

“Never?”

“Well, ok, there was this one time – ‘ 

“Of course. There always is.”

“No, seriously. When I was, like, fourteen, I messed around a little with my best friend. We didn’t do much, just, you know.” He makes a little up-and-down motion with his fist.

“Got it.”

“And after that, I decided that I wasn’t gay. And about the same time, he realized he  _ was  _ gay.”

“That must have been awkward.”

“Just for a couple weeks. Then he managed to convince me that I’m totally not his type, and since then everything’s been cool between us. I’m not a total asshole.” 

“Uh… So then it changed when you went into heat?”

“When I went into heat, all I could think about was…” Jackson swallows, willing himself to get the words out, “different guys fucking me.”

“Guys in general, or specific men you know?”

“Specific. Why?”

“Like your friend? Just wondering.”

“No.” Jackson thinks about it for a minute. “They were werewolves, every one of those guys in my head. He’s not one.”

“Hm… I guess that makes sense.” 

Jackson squirms around, repositioning himself. He’s tried to ignore it as long as he can, but another heat wave is coming, and he can tell it’s going to be a big one. 

“What about Owen? You think he’d fuck me, or is he straight too?” Jackson’s starting to sound desperate. No, scratch that. He’s been desperate for a while now. 

“He says he’s straight, but I’ve known him to be flexible under certain circumstances. He might do it if you let him tie you up and beat you first.”

“Uh…. I could go for that.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Ianto’s response is simply a low growl.

“Ianto?” 

“Huh. That’s odd.” Ianto takes a moment to process this development. “My wolf wouldn’t let him hurt you, even if you enjoyed it. I get nauseous just thinking about it.”

“Well, let’s scratch that off the list.” 

“Best do that. Owen might be willing to fuck you, but he’d never let you forget that he did you a favor.”

“Hm. Speaking from experience?”

“I… didn’t say that.”

No, but Ianto doesn’t have to.

All this talking has distracted Jackson, but as they lapse into a silence, he can no longer ignore the demands of his body. Lying naked in a bed next to Ianto isn’t helping things, either, and after a few minutes he is back to squirming and rubbing himself against the sheets. He’s sweating, and it feels like his whole body is buzzing. His loins are on fire. He whimpers. 

Ianto sighs and rubs his hand through Jackson’s hair. It’s soft and spiky, and makes him feel as if he’s doing something helpful, trying to comfort Jackson. He’s hyper-connected to Jackson’s moods right now. 

He knows that Jackson needs a lot more than just comfort, though. But sex for Ianto right now would be painful, and he’s not even sure he could get it up.

He tries a couple fingers, pushes them in deep and curls them to reach Jackson’s prostate, his other hand on his cock. It doesn’t bring any relief, just seems to frustrate him, and Jackson continues to writhe in pain. He needs more. Ianto can feel it. 

“Tonight’s the full moon. I think it’s still going to get worse.” 

Jackson just groans in response. 

Ianto has an idea, and as uncomfortable as it is, Jackson’s unresolved horniness is worse. So he puts it out there. 

“There’s another option.”

“Yeah?”

Another big sigh.

“We could ask Jack.”

Jackson is silent for a moment, though Ianto knows he’s getting turned on, probably thinking about Jack taking him. 

“Last time… it didn’t make things 100% better, not like you, but it did help a lot. Maybe because he’s human?”

“I think only an Alpha can fully satisfy you. But this might work for a while. At least long enough for me to catch a break and maybe heal. I’d stay right with you the whole time. I’ll hold you and bite you when you come.”

“That would be awesome. Because right now besides having you cock inside me, the second best thing is laying here in your arms while you pat my head. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Me either.”

“But… you wouldn’t mind? Me with Jack?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done a three-way. I rather enjoy watching him in action. It’s different if it’s someone we share. It’s him going off and shagging some stranger without me, that I don’t like.”

Ianto’s not one-hundred-percent telling the truth. But they both need to pretend it’s true. 

“That’s really, uh, generous of you, Ianto.

“When the alternative is having my dick fall off from over-use?”

“You could just… I mean, I got through heat last time. I was miserable, but it didn’t kill me. I could suffer through it again. ”

Ianto shudders. He imagines what it would be like to see Jackson in agony and do nothing to help him. 

“It might not kill you, but it would kill me. Figuratively, of course.” 

“Well then, if you're sure. Let’s get Jack down here.”

# # #

Earlier, during a break in the action, Owen had come down with some food and a smirk, and left them a mobile phone, one of the cheap disposables they kept on hand so it wouldn’t matter if it got destroyed by alien goo. Or crushed in a spate of frenzied heat sex. Whichever. Ianto uses it now. 

“Jack.”

“Ianto. Everything all right?” Ianto can almost hear him frowning, little creases of worry appearing on his forehead.

“Yep. We need some help, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack didn’t miss the innuendo in Ianto’s tone.

“Can you come down?”

“Sure. Give me, say… ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes. But hurry.”


End file.
